


Butcher and the Nymph verse - LOVE and Distance

by HardCandyscribblin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Booty Calls, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, DJ Jaskier, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is a tease, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, MMA fighter Geralt, Modern Era, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Quote: Walk Walk Fashion Baby, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Snuggling, Switching, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Versatile Geralt, Versatile Jaskier, handjob, wanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardCandyscribblin/pseuds/HardCandyscribblin
Summary: Geralt can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. His loves that his little Lark doesn’t give a fuck.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissa/gifts).



> Geralt is away in Manila for a big fight. Renfri has something for him. Jaskier it seems has been busy and there is a further surprise from the Fighter’s naughty Nymph.
> 
> snippets from the Modern AU.

There’s a familiar ding from Geralt’s pocket. He’s been in Manila now for over a week and a half, his fight comes up this weekend. It’s all been press and training. The usual circus that goes with the profession. Jaskier is In Belgium for TomorrowLand. This is how they roll. Sometimes apart but there are Skype calls and WhatsApp so the distance doesn’t feel so bad. What with the 7 hour difference... jask keeps saying he’s sending messages from the distant past to  
Geralt’s exciting future. Geralt teasingly tells him to get fucked. Jaskier’s parry is “well I would by my boyfriend lives in the future right now.”

Renfri sidles up to Geralt at the sleek futuristic in-house bar of the swish as-fuck hotel the ‘School of the Wolf’ team are holed up in. “Hey Geralt... how’s tricks?” She says smoothly while gracefully pulling up onto the barstool next to him. A black velvet cube monstrosity that is definitely not comfy to sit on. Geralt grunts his welcome and raises his glass of sparkling water with lime - WISHING it was her Vodka Tonic. Fucking prep rules. 

She chuckles knowing full well what Geralt is thinking. “Yeah that sucks...” she looks at his frosted tumbler with feigned sadness before taking a sip of her beverage. “How’s that songbird of yours?” Geralt scoffs at her “ “he’s good.” Is all he gives her. Geralt knows when Renfri is fishing. “ she eyes him over her drink then clears her throat. “Well have you seen his latest spread?”  
Because of coarse he hasn’t, Geralt has been here under lock and key, touted about and prodded like a glorified show-pony before his big night. He KNEW jaskier had a editorial coming this week but he hasn’t had chance to see it. The woman next to him smiles ALL teeth round pretty pink lips. Then fishes through her handbag. One of those achingly hip rucksacks in faux leather and lucite. “Here.... came out on Monday. I got it at the airport.” She says rather smugly as the big glossy magazine lands on the shiny glittering bar top with a dull slap. Fuck... when did these things become literal books? Geralt muses out-loud to the brunette next to him, sipping her drink and shrugging. Renfri doesn’t read or buy these things. She did it for Geralt. He looks down at the cover. The image is truly something.

It’s LOVE magazine.  
The background a stylish muted grey that blends into the palest mauve and there’s HIS Lark. front and center. The neon mauve text tagline reads Jaskier - “love has no boundaries”  
The art direction is beautiful and provocative. Jaskier is wearing Gucci because of coarse he is. (Hello fashion house’s new muse) a sheer shirt with double GG black glittering pattern. The cut is more tailored then his usual flowy choice but shows of all that lithe muscle. While Geralt has all the definition and sculpted mass, Jaskier is quietly built. The trousers are thin brushed silk in muted black and he’s wearing a thin band tiny pearl choker along with the usual couple of thin chains and rings. Colour is washed from the image save for the lazy-bright blue of his eyes that stare out, as if daring the viewer to say something. Defiant and flashy is his lover. Geralt’s mouth waters a little.

“Doesn’t he look LOVELY...” comes the teasing voice of Renfri, whistling low. “Fuck off Renfri.” Geralt grinds before grabbing her drink eliciting a squeak of protest from her. He takes the weighty tome in the other hand and strides out of the bar to His hotel room. Geralt takes a large gulp of Renfri’s drink as soon as he gets in the room. Another futuristic monstrosity in neon and garish tones with brushed steel accents. He sits on the bed. Large and high thing that could happily sleep 2 with room to spare and looks down at the glossy in his hands. Now in the safety and privacy of his hotel suite Geralt lets out that shaky breath he was holding and flips through the high fashion mag. Inserts scatter to the floor, the paper is thin and tears alittle as Geralt flicks to what he wants.

Further back from the fashion center in Jaskier’s interview 6 pages of text intersected with vivid mauve sound bites - little tantalising nuggets of the interview. “I love who I want. This person happens to be of the same sex.”  
“It’s not greedy to follow your heart.” “Me and Gaga are working currently on a new project. I adore her... like a sister.... one that has tattooed me!” Geralt can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. His loves that his little Lark doesn’t give a fuck. Well that isn’t accurate if some slander Geralt himself ( not that he can’t look after himself) then Jaskier can give many fucks... scathingly loud ones. Her rakes that golden gaze over the images. They are perfection. All against that faded backdrop. The ground is saturated in a slick of water that has been digitally rendered dark and brooding. In one image Jaskier is on his knees splashing up water droplets, caught lightening quick mid-scoop in a fan of water. His back arched, laughing up at the sky like a water nymph mid-frolic. He’s wearing the same articles of clothing but Jaskier’s Gucci shirt is now missing instead he’s modelling opera-length gloves in the same fabric and print. His hair, tousled and dripping and eyes closed. 

Geralt feels a stirring in his loins. That fucking bastard. Surely he knew what this shoot would do to him. He secretly hopes that jaskier got to kept the gloves. 

The next image is a quad of his Lark’s face. 4 images in progression. In the 1st one Jaskier’s eyes are closed, his wet hair swept to the side. 2nd one blue eyes open and he’s spotted something to the side making him laugh. 3rd - gloved hands held up either sided his head. Little devil horns that are infact gucci covered fingers, a cheeky expression on Jaskier’s face The 4th is a neutral. Jaskier’s hair falling into his eyes, lips slightly parted, there is a be-gloved hand toying with that pearl choker .... just inframe. He looks defiant and daring. Geralt loves it.

The fighter flicks over the page to see jaskier in the shirt, opera gloves and silk trousers standing front and center on that watery stage, his feet bare and sunk in blackness. Jaskier’s clothes are clinging to him leaving little to the imagination as he stretches upwards. Arms held out the an imaginary crowd. his head craned back and shouting to invisible forces. It’s powerful and strikingly beautiful. “Fuck..” Geralt mutters palming his crotch. The fighter knows he’s being obscene. Getting tuned on at the latest editorial his boyfriend has starred in. His dick getting hard at the images like some teenager at finding their dad’s porn under the parent’s bed. He should feel silly. Maybe some shame at the whole situation.

But he doesn’t. Instead Geralt flicks over to the next page. Jaskier chin tilted up, one hand caressing the column of his own throat... fingers over this pearls. His other hand beckoning the viewer.... like a voyeur ... over to him. There’s a cheekiness in his eyes a playfulness to the camera. Geralt rubs the flat of his palm over the hardening bulge in his trousers before his brain somewhere in the back... dark and creeping says. ‘Do it.... he’s yours.’ So fuck it all Geralt undoes his fly, shucks off his Levi’s and strokes over his thick cock still incased in white CK briefs there’s a damp spot already. He flicks a thumb over it, the action bring his cock to full hardness and peeking out through the waistband of his briefs. Time to get more comfy.

Off go the briefs unceremoniously kicked to the floor, Followed by his dress shirt. Geralt grabs Renfri’s Vodka Tonic and drains it, slapping the tumbler down on the bedside table and settles himself against the headboard amongst the stupid scatter cushions and pillows of the too large bed. The Magazine rests against one thigh, leg crooked up to rest the spine of the glorified coffee table book against. Geralt rubs a hand down one hard lightly furred pec down to where he wants it most. His cock. Big and curving up to his belly button. It twitches as he teases himself. Skimming fingers over the underside to pull foreskin from his leaking cockhead. Fingertips to the slit, slicking precome down of hot hard flesh. Exactly how Jaskier likes to touch him at first before he begins to stroke firmly. He flicks the page

“Oh fuck.” He mutters. Jaskier on his knees, hands on his hips looking quite pleased with himself staring off to the right. He’s taken one long silky glove off and is holding it taut between spread knees. Geralt strokes firmly now up His entire length, twisting at the tip and smearing moisture down the shaft to slick his way. Closing his eyes Geralt imagines his Nymph kneeling before him. Wet and wanting bright eyes full of wicked mischief. Imagines it’s not Geralt large firm hand of his cock but a pair of musicians hands, long instrument calloused fingers rubbing heated intimate skin. How Jaskier would bite his lip before leaning down for a taste. Geralt opens his eyes. The last image nearly undoes him.

It’s definitely arty. A side-on look of Jaskier’s face looking to the camera half hidden by the dark murky water. He’s smouldering for the audience. Blue eyes lined faint trace of kohl, lavender shimmer on his cheekbones. Feminine touches but still undeniably masculine from the small amount of day old stubble and the peaking of body hair that comes up to his collar bones. It’s a beautiful image.

There’s a ding. From somewhere near the floor that pulls Geralt out of his reverie. Growling and releasing his cock. Geralt wipes his hand if the comforter of the bed and scoops around on the floor lazily. His cock throbbing with need doesn’t make it easy. The fashion magazine slips off its balanced spot on his leg as the fighter leans over the bed and roots around. Normally he might ignore his mobile in a jerking off session but Geralt IS waiting for a call from Vesemir ( more info for him to absorb concerning his opponents fight style/tells... that sort of thing.) Geralt curses and swears eventually yanking his mobile out of his jeans pocket, taking a few calming breaths having been so close to the edge earlier. Focus. Although the name flashing up on screen makes the the idea of calming down and focusing up fly right out the window. Jaskier (2 messages). The Nymph’s ears must be burning or he has a sixth sense or something. Geralt opens the WhatsApp. There is an image time stamp is from 20 or so minutes ago with a note that reads. I don’t know if you’ve seen it yet Witcher... but I’ve been very busy. They made me a special  
Present. Although I think it’s more for you, then it is me ;P

Geralt Clicks on the jpg to upload and his breath is taken out of his lungs by what he sees.

Jaskier on their bed in their Sonoma cabin. The white sheets are rucksed up and he’s all dry. (So this is some time after the LOVE magazine shoot.) he’s kneeling side on from the cameraphone, the edges of the lower half of the screen are soft white and pillowy, not in focus (he’s propped it up on their bedding.) there’s candles in the background and the faintest amount of warm natural light painting the backdrop of their little haven in dusky tones. Jaskier is wearing the gauzy black shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. The Opera gloves add a whole new dimension of sexy. One hand sliding down a bare thigh, the other caressing the thickly haired skin of his chest, jaskier is looking over his shoulder directly at the camera. All heat and need. There’s a peak of pearls on his neck. It’s then that Geralt notices the panties. Oh how could he not..

It’s made from the same gauzy sheer material with the same iconic logos all over as the rest of his outfit. A bikini cut but created with the man in mind. Jaskier’s balls cradled high, his dick flush and deep pink straining against the expensive fabric up into the crease where thigh meets hip. Gods! Geralt has never been this hard in his life.

Geralt yes a shaken breath in an exhales. His dick leaking and begging to be touched. So Geralt does lazy long strokes to help calm him back down. The image that jaskier has sent still fresh in his mind. The fighter notices the second file. It’s a sound file. clicks on it and unmutes the phone bringing it to his ear expecting a naughty message from his far away lover. This is not what he gets. 

A hitching breath, panting and heavy breathing along with a slapping o slick skin. That bastard has recorded himself touching himself and sent it to Geralt. And fuck Geralt is now stroking himself along with the recording. Matching the pace. His minds eye filling the gaps for him. Jaskier in the middle of their bed with those naughty panties round his ankles, tugging on that long dick of his  
“Geralt... uhhHuh.... surprise...” he chuckles - the other sounds slow then build back up - “gods I miss you.”

“I miss you too Jask.” Geralt replies to the recording 

“Oh...I was going to wait uhh *pant* wait for when you come home but Ffuck... I was at the shoot and we talked about you, our life, other stuff and I’m wearing this outfit. Ohh *pant* on my knees. I knew you’d love it. These gloves. Fuuuuck Geralt I wish you were here. You’d love these panties made just for me. Oh *pant* please say you’ll give me a REAL pearl necklace. Godsss I miss you so much.  
Jaskier is breathing so hard the litany of sweet filth tumbling out of his Larks mouth has Geralt hot right there with him. Tugging and stroking furiously on his big thick cock.

The heavy breathing speeds up. As does Geralt’s hand. He wants to finish with his Lark. In his minds eye he’s there with Jaskier in their bed. Lying next to him as his naughty musician strokes them both wearing he’s nearly acquired finery. Geralt would reach a hand into that sheer open shirt, tweak a hard nipple. Maybe jaskier would let him taste as he strokes him. The older man’s thoughts broken as the recorded voice continues to talk and tease. *pant* “pleasepleaseplease... OHhhhh say you are touching yourself...?” *pant “I hope you are my Love. Please touch yourself for me. Come for me..” *pant* “come with me.... I’m so hard. Thinking of you.” *pant* “I’m close.... Geralt.”

“Yes Baby....” Geralt grinds out. Speeding up his strokes. Heat coiling low in his belly. He’s so close himself. On a knife-edge of ecstasy not just down to touch but spurned on by the one who holds his heart currently 7 hours in the past. Suddenly in his ear “yes... yes... Geralt!!” A sharp exhale that ends in a long guttural moan. Music to the fighters ears. It tips Geralt over the edge. Spilling in long thick hot arcs over his hand and abdomen.

“Oooooh ......” he hears Jaskier purr in his ear and a throaty laugh. “I’ve made a mess babe, I wish you could see. I know you’d help clear me up.” That bastard... still toying with Geralt knowing that yes... on occasion he HAS licked him clean. He’d do it again if asked. Jaskier has too. The mental image renews the blush on Geralt’s cheeks and up his neck. His hand slowly stroking his over-sensitive cock til it’s too much and Geralt wipes his hand on the comforter, his release starting to dry on his skin. Still  
He doesn’t move. Just listens to his Lark’s voice. “I hope you enjoy this .... little gift. I’ll save the outfit for when you come back home. Think of it as a champions reward. I know you’ll win. I’ll go into town to the sports bar. Mmmmm you know the one. Meet up with Priscilla and we’ll cheer you on. I’m going to go now. I love you.” Jaskier sighs deeply and the recording finishes.

Geralt blinks and exhales deeply. Scrubbing his face over his hand the fighter rises grimacing at the cum on his belly -already starting to flake on his body hair. He sighs up to the twinkling ceiling lights grabs the glass from the nightstand and pops a booze soaked icecube into his mouth crunching between his molars at breaths hard through his nose. Vesemir will be pissed that 2 of his pre-fight rules have been flouted. 1. No alcohol 2. No sex. 

Well does what Geralt just did count as that? Ah fuck it.... Geralt can’t think of it now. He’s got a few days to recoup before his fight. He’ll thank Renfri at the breakfast buffet in the morning. 

Geralt puts the phone and fashion tome on his bed side table and goes to shower. He does not feel guilty. Not in the fucking least.  
After the shower Geralt towels off and slips into bed. Propping up the pillows the way he likes. Damn hotel bed is too damn soft. Like sleeping on a marshmallow. Normally Geralt would pull on his sleep pants but the aircon isn’t as cool as he’d like and the remote to work it is too fucking confusing. So Geralt sleeps in the ‘raw’ while here in Manila. Turning off the light, he shifts onto his side. The city skyline illuminates the bedroom in tiny firework specks of neon. Like those nature shows that ciri and jaskier love to watch where David Attenborough narrates the twinkling alien-like creatures that live deep in the ocean. The last thing Geralt sees before sleep takes him is that LOVE magazine cover and Jaskier frozen in time staring out at him.  
“Night ...Lark.”


	2. LOVE and dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His Nymph looks gorgeous. Sporting a light tan earned at the Belgium festival but that’s not what is presently making the heavyweight champion stare. ‘Fuck’ he thinks it’s those damn gloves.

When the sleek private car pulls up with the familiar crunch of shingle that can be heard through the heavily tinted glass... Geralt knows he’s home. The Fighter feels it when he’s got into the cabin, punched in the handy six digit pin to power down their alarm system and drops his hold-all (thanks JS for the understated design more suited to himself). The flight-case gets shoved against the wall of the entrance way. Geralt inhales deeply and exhales for just as long. A clean scent of home - slightly citrus from The oils jaskier likes to burn in the evenings and the woodsy outdoor smell that is distinctive to where they live. 

No one is about. Not that Geralt is surprised. His loved ones are currently fluttering about in town for his not-so-secret ‘champion welcome home’ dinner. Right now he doesn’t FEEL that moniker sink in... not even after the glitzy ceremony, the ho-harr of pundits and sport commentators crowing his name... to his face. Really Geralt feels wrung out and dog-tired. The fighter would sooner go to ground for a month then venture out but he understands.... his family want to praise him with a special night out and Geralt IS looking forward to seeing them. There’s no big party. No throngs of thots and twinks clawing at him in clubs ( most UFC champs go nuts on the party circuit after a title win.) No. Just the people he loves and cares for most.

Geralt showers quickly, time is off the essence. Its been 2 days travel to get back from the Philippines and Geralt IS good at being able to bed down to rest nearly anywhere. He has even been known to meditate while waiting for his gate to be called. The one marvel of air travel for him nowadays is that Geralt can fly private and that makes check in and boarding much quicker. Shaving off some valuable time.

He wanders into the Bedroom all fresh and clean, smelling of his favourite oud shower gel, clad in a towel that sits low on his hips. the sunlight streams through the large windows giving Geralt a unobstructed view of nature in all its gentle majesty. Redwoods, pine and larches creaking and swaying in the gentle summer breeze. It’s calming.... grounding. On Geralt’s bedside table he doubles down on that powerfully rich and woody scent with his TF Oud intense cologne. Brushes white drying locks and pulls them into a half knot, moisturises. It’s when he goes to fish out a suitable shirt for tonight Geralt notices the package on their freshly made bed.

The package bulky and creased as if the considerate giver was in a hurry. Brown paper hastily cellotaped but the twine used to make it look nice and pretty has been given more care. Criss-Crossing over the gift making it look window from a child’s picture book. Knotted with a extravagant double bow that’ll be hard to unpick. Geralt grins knowing who exactly would spend forever on little details most often over-looked and infuriating none the less. 

There’s a inscription written on the brown paper in a unmistakable scrawl all looping curves and spaces. ‘ A warrior-Champion requires the best Armour.   
Mi Amour x’

Geralt’s brows crease and he sits on their bed carefully undoing the quite weighty present, to discard the wrapping on the floor - jaskier will tut later, he’s sure of that.

It’s a new leather jacket. But not just any leather jacket, this is by Agatha Blois - of New York Custom Leather. Atelier to the worlds Greatest Rockstars. 

“Fuck..” Geralt mutters unfurling his gift to get a better look. Black traditional Biker cut, It has panels of short stud inlays that on the shoulders, upper back, upper arms and Lapels. The silver catches the light and the leather is buttery soft. The lining is black silk run through with silver thread. A masterpiece that would have cost a pretty penny. Agatha has a long client list and doesn’t work for just ANYONE. Geralt shrugs in on clad in just his towel and strides over to the full length mirror he notes that it’s tailored, doing the jacket up Geralt realises it’s tailored to perfection. Some has been very sneaky and sized up without him knowing. “Dammit Jaskier...” he mutters with affection tingeing that baritone of his. Geralt turns to get a better angle and it’s then he notices the design on the back. Two Swords, slightly different in design made from intricate, stitching and studwork. Understated and extremely cool. He’ll have to ask his Nymph about that.  
The Fighter takes of the jacket and quickly dresses. Having noticed the time, he’s already running late. Geralt chooses dark Levi’s, a thick black belt with silver buckle detail and crisp  
white shirt, he leaves a few buttons undone to keep it casual and pulls on the leather jacket and a pair of ALLSAINTS black boots. “Fuck...” he mutters checking the time on the clock. The fighter grabs his bike keys, wallet and alarms their home in double time and sets out on his Ducati Diavel bike, Headed for town.

Geralt parks the Ducati out round the corner of West Spain Street, just down from the Restaurant - Girl and the Fig. It’s a relaxed place with that decor is still stuck in the 90’s bold blue painted frames and shutters, burnt orange walls, sunflowers hand painted inside behind the main bar and an unfussy menu. Cali and some french favourites. It’s the large patio and bar outside that Geralt likes. The craft beer always good and the wine is even better.He makes is way through the main dining room, being sure to greet the proprietor Elen on his way, shaking hands in greeting and getting a warm hug of congratulations. The restaurant is manly populated by locals that know the famous couple well and know when to leave them be on the day-to-day. Despite this a few turn in their booth seats and chair to acknowledge and nod to the champion. The man of the hour himself nods back in kind, even if inside Geralt feels like his world has gotten a little smaller. It’s the price of his hard work - the fame. 

Geralt goes out the side door out into the patio. It’s what Yennefer would describe as shabby-chic minus the hipsters. The walls are corrugated iron and wood frame with cheery potted plants - creepers, geraniums, daisies and yes sunflowers. All the tables and chairs match (thank god!) and the food is served on white wide rim china plates with white napkins. 

The out-bar is at the centre of the space with a wood oven on the end. It’s busy, cosy and Geralt spots his people congregated at the far wall. The long table is covered in gold sparkles of paper confetti. Bunches of gold balloons hang above, a couple of lanterns and a few metal buckets with champagne on ice. All his dear ones are there. 

Vesemir in casual attire of muted tones - a quiet gentle giant of a man. Eskel and Lambert his ‘brothers’ wearing sweats with their gym logo. Triss rocking active wear chic with wedge shoes, her hair in braids. Yennefer in a daring black jumpsuit with a high neck and low cut cleavage panel and killer louboutins. She might as well be wearing spikes! Hair slicked back in what Geralt guesses is ‘the wet look’ and her trademark eyeliner is razor sharp and her red lip is 80’s level of bold. 

Ciri is dressed a Betsy Johnson cream dress, blue sweater and black converse. Her hair left in natural waves, with her as always is Dara - a walking advert of Calvin Klein. But then again he is in their teen Ads. He doesn’t see Jaskier tho. As the Fighter makes his way over Ciri spots him first. “Dad!!” She Screams and runs leaping into his warm embrace. His girl is getting bigger by the day but Geralt can still lift her off her dainty feet to swing her in the air, earning a squeal from his princess.

Geralt let’s Ciri go, kissing the crown of her golden head. Checking to make sure his jacket hasn’t maimed her but his girl if fine and beaming at him, dragging him over to their table where he is warmly congratulated with whoops, cheers, and manly pats on the back. “Look at that winner..”  
Geralt turns round to see Renfri walking up, hair missed in the sort of messy style that takes ages to perfect, Fenty jumpsuit in khaki and delicate gold Jimmy choo sling backs that echo the gold of her mother’s brooch. She’s made an effort tonight, Geralt’s touched. He gingerly pulls her into a bear hug so not to upset the bottles of red and white wine she’s got in each hand. She grins and mutters a “surprise.” As Geralt spots the person walking up behind her. His mouth has gone a like dry and the fighter can feel his cheeks growing hot.

Jaskier is wearing a loose black linen shirt unbuttoned daringly low. A few thin silver chains and rings, high waisted dark teal silk trousers and Gucci black dress shoes. The sort of chic styling that would make David Bowie - the Thin White Duke himself nod at in appreciation. His Nymph looks gorgeous. Sporting a light tan earned at the Belgium festival but that’s not what is presently making the heavyweight champion stare. ‘Fuck’ he thinks it’s those damn gloves.

The length means that the hemline of them disappears beneath the short sleeves. It’s not a outlandish look that’s jarring. No, The DJ wears them well. He’s carrying a Shirley Temple (that’ll be for Ciri.) and a killawat smile (that’s for him) “Hey Witcher.” Jaskier kisses his cheek then his lips with a casual fondness that Geralt kisses back to him with a hand going to the small of the younger man’s back. “Hey Lark.” Geralt gives a small smile back.   
“Nice Jacket.... someone with exquisite taste must have got for you.” Jaskier says, squeezing the shoulder of the jacket, a little sarcasm and mirth in his voice.  
“Yes..... they must have.” Geralt replies, teasing.

They join the table with Geralt at the head, ciri on the right with Yen, Triss, Vesemir and lambert. Jaskier on his left with Dara (looking with longing everyone and again he wasn’t sitting with Ciri), Renfri and Eskel. Wine was poured and plates of food arrived. Platters of mand and towers of formate decorated with edible flowers and herbs, radish salad, sizzling flounder in sorrel and thyme butter. Little paper cones filled with truffled frites, A wooden board piled high with seasonal fruit, fig cake, quince jelly, seeded crackers and warm fresh baguettes. Salted butter, chutneys of different flavour combinations - apple and sultana, chili and apricot to name a few. All delicious and designed to be shared.

Geralt unconsciously pulled Jaskier’s chair closer to his (oh the younger man noticed, eyes raking of the Champion now sans jacket. Geralt can’t help but look. Every now and again His golden gaze turns to his Nymph or.... more accurately his hands encased in sheer black material and intricate black thread designs, ever present rings hidden by them. Holding a fork, wine glass, touching his face. Geralt never noticed before that his lover tended to use or ‘talk with his hands’ or fidget with his fingers quite so much. It makes him think of the LOVE magazine shoot. Have the others round the table seen it? Seen how daring his Nymph is? Geralt takes a big gulp of the vintage Rhône from the large wine glass, gripping it tightly. He watches as Jaskier plucks a grape from the beautiful fruit board towards the middle of the table and slowly pop the sweet round fruit into his mouth chewing thoughtfully, listening Triss talks about the latest care package she’s streamlining for Auretuza. He chews the side of his cheek ‘pretending he’s listening along when in actuality he’s watching Jaskier’s hands and mouth. It’s then the DJ turns to him. Bright blue eyes locking with Warm gold. Jaskier pulls in his plush bottom lip and bites it at him. ‘Well fuck’ Geralt thinks. ‘He’s noticed me watching’

Geralt turns away sharply, shifting in his seat as minutely as he dares to relieve the tightness of his jeans. In Geralt’s head he can hear Jaskier’s naughty voice recording. He pegs so prettily. Geralt wants him. Wants Jaskier to beg for his cock. To slide his length between those pretty lips. ‘Fuck it...’ naughty thoughts definitely not helping. The champion takes another, less full sip of the rich red wine and a mouthful or Roquefort. Jaskier has now switched his attention to Ciri, excitedly telling her a tale of his first night at TomorrowLand and the hits he played.

Its then Geralt Sees the laser-sharp focus of Yen. Sitting next to their daughter but her attention flits between the DJ and himself. An unreadable Mona-Lisa smile. On her too perfect features. Uh oh.

Champagne corks are popped and flutes filled. Vesemir stands up and makes a toast. Talks hard work and dedication and the early days and even his adopting of Geralt as a young boy and seeing his potential. The pride he feels and that there is a clear message to the world that through pain and hardship sheer force of will, the greatest obstacles can be moved. Greatness, love and respect earned. Vesemir clears his throat and raises a flute of champagne “to Geralt!” He booms and they cheer his name and there is a resound clinking of glasses. A stone. Small and heavy sits in Geralt’s stomach. It’s his turn to talk. Difficult for a man who chooses his words carefully and when to say them. He’s not one for public speaking but there are expectant faces along the table and he might as well get it over with. Ciri smiles brightly as if to will him on and there is a gentle squeeze under the table of a gloved hand and a warm look from Jaskier. They can read him so easily- his family. Yen puts a perfectly manicured hand under her chin. Violet eyes say ‘bored with this’ the painted lips say ‘this should be good’.

“Alright... my turn” he mutters and pushing the chair back, stands holding his glass.

“Hmm..” he starts speaking, looking round the table. Noticing their faces. Some expectant. Some looking smiling and others just giving him the space. Geralt clears his throat again. His voice rough but well meaning, choosing over his words as he speaks. “look I’m not known for my words of wisdom, more for my actions. So don’t expect a Earth-shattering endearment. I tend to leave to the talking down to those around me, sitting here at this table. But I would just like to say Thankyou. All of you, whether you know it or not....Hmm. how do I put it? You’ve shaped me. Left a mark that can’t be seen. And although you can’t see it. Not like the scars I’ve earned in this career. I wear those with pride. But these marks... they mean more. More then the accolade of UFC heavyweight champion.”

He raises his glass. “So I raise my glass to you. Thankyou.”

They all follow suit, standing and saluting Geralt. The speech was staggered and a bit crap but he thinks they get what’s he’s trying to say. 

Soon after everyone settles. Eskel and Lambert go to the bar - undoubtedly to talk more ‘plainer’ over a few beers. Vesemir and Renfri are in heated talks with eachother with Triss having gone round to their side of the table to listen in in regards to elite female training and like. Dara and Ciri are back sitting next to eachother and doing a TikTok video of the evening. Yennefer has gone to the main bar inside the restaurant because she didn’t want to wait for her drink and Jaskier pouring him another glass.

“I’ve got a question.” Geralt says nonchalantly although really he IS curious.  
“Oh?” The DJ pours himself another glass and sips. Geralt takes note of how those gloves hands bend round the red wine glass.   
“Why two Swords?” He asks leaning back in his chair to study his Nymph who folds the wine round in his mouth seemingly deep in thought looking off ‘far away’ into the distance. The younger man swallows and looks him dead in the eye with a small smile. “I guess they are for protection.” A stutter of a laugh makes him look downwards before looking back up at Geralt again. “Stupid I know but, when I thought of the design. I thought those two swords are for the beasts you cannot see.”

“Stupid huh?” Jaskier says. A bit dismissive of his own gift but Geralt gets it. Understands the meaning. “No.”  
He growls low enough that he’s not even sure jaskier heard him. “It’s perfect.”  
Geralt takes Jaskier’s free hand and kisses the the knuckles, the fabric is pleasant try against his lips.

The sweet exchange hasn’t escaped a few eyes it seems. Renfri is leaning hard on the table, mindful to dodge the soiled plates. Vesemir has taken Triss up to the bar to join the two rowdy men. Geralt is sure Eskel will regret trying to keep up with Lambert by the time they catch their flight out tomorrow. Renfri waggles her brows at both men. Geralt scoffs into his glass and Jaskier winks back in retaliation. No shame. No fowl. Out the corner of his eye Geralt sees Yennefer roll her eyes as she rounds the patio space weaving round tables of people enjoying their evening. The raven-haired beauty walks with the kind of grace that queens could only dream of. The clack-clack of her louboutins announce are arrival to them long before the others see her. Her signature scent of lilac and gooseberries is heady. It used to do things to the Fighter. Not that he’d admit that to anyone. Now it’s just a reminder of a relation long gone by that in truth he doesn’t miss. Yen is beautiful but cruel to those who don’t see the world her way. He knows that side well. 

Yennefer slides back into her seat. Her Manhattan cocktail barely upset, poised in a dainty manicured hand. Not a fucking drop spilt. “Sooo....” she drawls at once sounding bored and put upon.

Jaskier leans on a gloved hand, listening over the chatter. His new tattoo courtesy of one Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta is barely visible behind his ear and dark locks. Only the peak of cursive ‘G’ can be glimpsed. It’s healing nicely. 

“What will you do now you’ve won the title? Retire? Retreat to your little love nest and adopt a bunch of horses and cats?” It may be a innocent enough question but it’s dripping with sarcasm. The way she forms the words slow and mocking. She can’t be jealous....

“Would you like to be adopted? You ARE catty enough. And I’m sure I’ve seen cats make the same face you do when they are about to bring up a hairball” the DJ says breezily as if pointing out the weather. Jaskier gives Geralt’s knee a cheeky squeeze, grabs his drink and heads down the other end of the table to Renfri who’s taking a pic on her phone of Ciri and Dara. 

Geralt hides his smile behind a gulpful of wine. Yen looks like she’s chewing as wasp but only for a few seconds as she looks Geralt over. The champion shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I’ll go back on the circuit to defend my title. I haven’t thought about retiring yet. Not while I’m young enough to continue. Then maybe yes. I’ll”— she cuts him off — “how come you were never like THAT with me?” The question comes out quick and clipped. She must have been wondering on the for a while. This is what Yen really wants to ask. The prior question, a red herring. She won’t like Geralt’s answer. 

“Not now Yen.” He quietly pleads”. Not at his dinner party.  
“Yes now.” She hisses. 

There’s a heavy pause between the two as Geralt formulates how best to say it. ‘Ahh fuck it’ he thinks. She’s a big girl. She can take it.

“Because he treats me like an equal. Not someone to make use of them discard and pick back when it suits them. Jaskier respects me and loves me.....” he leans into her “something I don’t think you ever did.” “I had to earn it from you.” He finishes and watches waiting for the possible fallout. 

Yennefer drains her cocktail, runs that red tongue along white perfect teeth as his words land. Black chrome nails tap a few times on her glass and she looks at him a little sad. She’s only herself to blame. “We ARE better this way... hm. If ONLY I’d let you in.” She admits. Crimson smile in place.

“We were never a good match Yen. You and I both know that. We would have torn eachother to pieces.” Yennefer nods and Geralt pours her a hefty serving of Rhône and they clink glasses. This is the way things are.

In the end dessert and after dinner liquors and coffees go round and more wine is quaffed. Ciri eats her lemon meringue pie AND Geralt’s share. He kisses her goodbye as she leaves the restaurant with Yennefer and Dara, off to the hotel Yen has booked them for the night.   
Tomorrow She wants to show her mom the best place for breakfast in town before they fly. 

Goodbye Geralt Yen says on the way out. Clack-clacking down the street not looking behind her. 

Vesemir, Renfri, Triss and the guys decide to move on to the sports bar a few blocks down, trying to will Geralt and Jaskier along for a ‘session’ of epic proportions as Lambert calls it. But Geralt makes excuses. It’s bad enough he’s leaving the Ducati in the hands of Elen for him to pick up tomorrow when he’s slept off the booze. But he’s tired too from all the travelling and mayhem. In truth Geralt IS a bit tired but wants to spent time alone with his Nymph.

After seeing everyone off, Jaskier settles the whole bill for the meal much to Geralt’s protests. His Nymph rolls those big blue eyes and as he hands over his coutts card. “I wasn’t able to be there for your moment of triumph. This is the least I could do Dear Heart.” That promptly stops dead whatever argument was on Geralt’s tongue. Instead he settles a wide palm on the younger man’s nape where his thumb scritches the short hairs there in circles. They both hug Elen and are last to leave the premises 

The ride back up to their cabin is smooth. Polite conversation with their driver “Hey aren’t you?” “Yes” -a beat- “hey aren’t you?” “Yep” clearly this Guy is new round here but follows their directions and chatters away with enthusiasm over Geralt’s win. All the while the two men sit in the plush leather seating quietly looking at one another. Geralt might be manspreading a touch. Jaskier, one leg crossed. Occasionally knees bump on the ride up. Geralt doesn’t mind. 

Geralt pays the fare while Jask runs up to their cabin and disables the alarm. The cabin is dark and quiet and once again their own. Geralt strides in to their home only the spotlights in the kitchen have been tuned on. Jaskier has pulled out two tumblers, filled them with ice and is currently pouring a few fingers worth of Glenlivet scotch (50yr rare reserve... fuck) in each. His Nymph grins at him, gesturing to the drinks. “A nightcap.... heh. I was saving it for something special and well... couldn’t think of a better time.” All Geralt can think to say is “Hmm.”He hands Geralt a glass and they clink and sip the amber liquid. It goes down strong and smooth. A smokey liquid heat that both men make appreciative faces at. (Unfortunately they are both the types to enjoy a good dram.) Geralt takes his chance and grabs Jaskier by a teal belt loop to pull him closer into a warm kiss, coaxing his lover to open his mouth and sneak a tongue in. Now Geralt gets to enjoy THAT taste anew.

A gloved hand snakes it’s way under Geralt’s leather jacket to press firmly between his shoulder blades bringing to two men flush together. He can feel the beginnings of Jaskier’s ‘interest’ against him. It’s probably best they move this to the bedroom although it wouldn’t be the first time that their kitchen island was used for something other then eating at. Geralt’s got his free hand at the back of Jaskier’s head. Fingers in soft dark hair. Not gripping, not directing the kiss. Just holding him close as they continue to trade breath the taste of one another. It’s sweet and filthy all at once. Jaskier pulls back first, panting hard. His larks pupils are blown wide with barest thinnest band of blue. Geralt’s are probably the same save for his mutated colouring. “Bed?” He phrases it like a question. “Dear god yes.” is the hurried and hoarse answer. Geralt is all but yanked to their dark bedroom. The door kicked open wide. The drinks are abandoned by both men onto the wooden floor. Best option really considering ANYTHING could happen right now and in their passion, bedside tables have been kicked, lamps knocked off. That sort of thing. 

Now hands-free both men ‘attack’ eachother. Boots and shoes kicked clean across the large room. Jackets yanked off to the floor. Shirts untucked and unbuttoned, all while feverishly trying to devour one-another. Teeth clack and lips bite. Geralt’s shirt follows. He breaks the kiss with a hiss behind clenched teeth as nimble gloved fingers skate over his firm pecs and deliberately catch and flick over hard nipples. “Oh fuuuuck.” Geralt moans as Jaskier grinds his hard (still clothed length) against Geralt’s own rock hard erection, muttering into the juncture where shoulder meets neck and before latching on and sucking a livid mark into the champions skin. Geralt hears his Nymph mutter a growled “I’m trying..”

They groan and grind against one another. Geralt pulls Jaskier’s mouth from his neck to kiss and bite that plush lower lip. Jaskier’s hands travel lower, down hard obliques and abs, undo his belt, yanking the offending item clean through the loop holes of Geralt’s jeans to clang loudly on the bedroom floor. Jaskier has quick hands. A godsend to his profession, also to Geralt it seems. As the champion trails along his lovers cheek with open mouthed kisses down to suck a mark of his own into the DJ’s neck, his hands roam along lithe furred skin of his Nymph to tweak a nipple just as the Nymph’s hands gain entrance to his jeans and gauzy fingertips slide down over Geralt hard cock. “Fuck.” They both mutter.

Jaskier looks at Geralt, his hand releasing Geralt’s dick to pull down the jeans down. Geralt’s own hands help. “You went to dinner with nothing on underneath??” He looks scandalised but the high colour on the DJ’s cheeks tell another story. “And yet you are still wearing too much” Geralt counters. The jeans are kicked away and Jaskier now has both gloved hands on him. Geralt starts undoing Jaskier’s trousers, muttering angrily about the stupid clasp. It’s not made easier by the fact that Jaskier is firmly flicking and twisting his wrists when his strokes up over the head of Geralt’s flushed and leaking cock. The precome slicks and soaks through the flimsy material of those high-end opera gloves and the detailing adds extra blessed friction to his heated skin making Geralt moan low and Jaskier chuckle - the fucking tease. The laughter soon dies when Geralt gets the DJ’s trousers off and down those slim legs. “Jaskier.” He says with force, breathing hard as a sneaky hand cradles his balls. “You didn’t tell me you were wearing those.”

The cheeky fucker looks down at himself before smiling and winking at him. “Oh these? You like them?” The tone is meant to be conversational but comes out a little bit hoarse. It’s the Fucking sheer panties and oh gods they look even better on his Nymph in person. The cut highlights the line of prominent hipbones and the light curve of his arse. Jaskier’s dick is hard and flush against him, trapped by the unforgiving fabric. The pink tip peeking up through the waistband. Geralt can’t resist and rubs a callused thumb down over the wet and shining slit.

The effect is instantaneous. Jaskier cranes his head back, a full body shiver raking through him as Geralt rubs that sticky-slick thumb back and forth. The DJ’s hands stop still on his cock and balls and Geralt takes his chance to kneel down infront of the other man. Slender gloved hands slide into white tresses. The champion now on his knees before his Nymph, licks and sucks a path with his tongue over Jaskier’s hard trapped cock. wetting the slinky fabric and drawing out gasps from the man above.

Geralt’s large palms slide up the backs of Jaskier’s legs, up to knead the firm cheeks of his covered arse. Geralt hums against hot wet skin and jaskier groans, his grip getting tighter on Geralt’s hair. Thick fingers dip and hook into the thin waistband of the panties pulling them down, Geralt wants to feel and taste without barriers. He’s gentle pulling the soaked material over Jaskier’s cock which almost comically springs free from its confines, flush, fully hard and so close to Geralt’s lips. The panties are soon shimmied out of and kicked away (they are probably ruined and stretched beyond repair now. - shame) 

Jaskier is looking down enraptured by him. There’s lust in those heavy lidded blue eyes but also love and trust. Not something Geralt thought he’d ever see from another human being. Pushing those thoughts away, He places open mouthed kisses to Jask’s thighs which makes the other man stifle a laugh. “Ticklish...”   
“Hmm you won’t be...”  
Whatever retort his Nymph has dies in his throat as Geralt - with one hand holding a slim hip, the other gently and firmly strokes foreskin back from Jaskier’s cockhead and swallows him down. 

“OoooOoh god....”  
Geralt hears as he flattens his tongue and bobs his head, stroking Jaskier’s cock in time with the movement. The younger man’s grip tightens. Pulling on Geralt’s scalp. The little bite of pain feels good and the sensation goes straight to his cock hanging hard and heavy throbbing between his bent legs.

“MmmmMmm... Yes. Stop. Stop stop stop.” Jaskier moans, pulling Geralt’s hair, just on the edge of rough. For his part Geralt does. He pulls off with a slick pop to look up at his lover. “Feels so good.”

His Nymph pants. “I don’t want to come just yet. I want you.” Geralt grins smugly and gets back up on his feet, sliding hands over Jaskier’s arse and up his back. The DJ for his part, gives a final little tug at long silver hair and smooths his palms down over the expanse of the Champion fighters well muscled back down to his pert, thick backside and palms at the firm muscles of his arse. The movement bringing them flush to one another, grinding their erections up against eachother. 

Between heated kisses jaskier asks. “You know... what I want. What do you need dear heart?”

“For you to fuck me, Nymph.” Geralt whispers back against his lips.  
Jaskier smiles and nips at Geralt’s bottom lip. “Oh yes... I’ll take care of you......” he whispers into the white wolf’s mouth. “....I’d love to.” Geralt kisses him soundly and is then led to their bed by Jaskier. He goes to Geralt’s bedside to pull out a few affects they’ll need. Geralt reclines on the California King, resplendently naked and unashamedly turned on. He slowly strokes his own cock as he watches Jaskier looking through what the DJ has dubbed ‘the goodie drawer.’ To be ‘helpful’ the Champion leans over and with his free hand, starts to stroke Jaskier’s cock, making other man falter and moan loudly. “Uhhhahaha..... this doesn’t help me.” His little Lark says as blue eyes flutter closed and his hips lean into Geralt’s intimate touch. “No... but it looks good to me.” Geralt rumbles back, low and sweet. “Gods... I’ll never get round to fucking you like you deserve ...aha!” jaskier bats his hands away and pulls out a pump bottle of liquid silk lube. Looking rather triumphant for someone sporting a impressive erection. “Grab the ring.” Geralt says looking up, while palming himself. “Oh?” The younger man looks perplexed. “For me..” the champion fighter clarifies, incase of any misunderstanding to do with prowess enters his Larks mind. “Oooooh” jaskier looks down at what Geralt’s are doing, stroking and rubbing up and down over that thick dick of his. “Jaskier.... I want to give you that necklace after you’ve fucked me and come inside me.” The instruction comes out like a growl. In truth for Geralt it’s a need. He needs this from his Nymph tonight. He needs to be marked and mark him. 

He didn’t think it was possible but Jaskier blushes anew. From the top of his hairline and down over his chest. Biting his bottom lip, the younger man palms over his own leaking cockhead and gives a few squeezes, searching through the goodie drawer before dropping an item onto the comforter next to Geralt’s spread legs with a flourish. 

A thick double loop cockring.

It’s not just some tatty jelly ring with uncomfortable spikes bits from Ann Summers, no. Two rings of soft touch firm rubber that is connected by a gold clasp. Beautiful like jewellery but for a much more intimate place. They’d shopped for it specifically in one of the more classier of sex shops in London -funnily enough NOT Soho. When Papp pics arrived on gossip sites like JustJared, then the Daily Mail in-line. Geralt then received a heated voicemail from Yennefer. “ do you think it’s appropriate to be pictured leaving a sex shop especially with your squeeze?!?” She’d hissed icily. A younger female faraway voice could be heard in the background yelling “mom! Dads not a eunuch! I DONT CARE! You do!” That has been the end of the message and the whole subject for that matter.

Thoughts to do with dynamics and fame trappings grind to a halt as Jaskier joins Geralt on the bed. The younger man kisses him sweetly on the lips then tracks down to where Geralt wants him. The DJ kisses and nips at meaty furred thighs, licks at lines of his Adonis belt then finally licks down on the leaking tip of Geralt’s dick, making him gasp and flinch, gripping 10000 thread count cotton sheets in his fists. “Gods Jask.... Yes.” He moans as jaskier strokes up his cock and licks down along the sensitive underside, all the while keeping eye contact. The friction of those -now wet- gloves   
Feel so so good on his heated skin Geralt could beg. He just can’t find the words. Especially now with his little Lark working Geralt’s thick impressive length into his mouth. Gloved hands grip and slide and stroke what he can’t comfortably take and it’s bliss.

Jaskier stops and pulls up gasping. Lips red and eyes shining. Gods he looks so good like this, like a wild little devil. Lube is dispensed quickly and smoothed and stroked down Geralt’s cock. The cool water based gel at first makes him jump but soothes as it’s worked over him. It’s the flavourless kind because since when was a dick meant to taste like cherries? And all the other more exotic flavours like piña colada (penis colada) made them sticky and terrible for their needs.

The rings of the boujee toy gets lined a slippery gloved, lubed up index finger and the big loop slides down Geralt’s dick to rest snuggly at the base. The smaller loop gets both his balls pulled through till he’s bound nicely lewd present. His very substantial ‘package’ is packed down tight. It should feel weird and YES it feels restrictive but fuck.... feels so good. Geralt can feel his heartbeat in his dick and Jaskier is looking at him REALLY looking at him appreciatively, whistling low. “ you look majestic.” His Lark breathes out and Geralt purrs for him and stretches indulgently like a tiger to its mate. “I feel it now come on Lark. Stop your teasing. Fuck me.”

“Yes.. yes yes. Okay up you come for me.” His lover takes a bossy edge. And taps Geralt’s thigh and he moves up onto all fours. Let’s himself be led by slick clothed hands til his knees are on the edge of the mattress and there’s sweet gentle kisses on the notches of his vertebrae, heading south. Geralt spreads his knees and curves his spine to rest his head on his strong forearms. From this vantage point behind his bound cock and balls he can see, FEEL jaskier move behind him to kneel not on the generous lip of their bed frame but on the floor. Palm and nibble the thick, pert globes of Geralt’s arse before parting them and leaning into to humm and lick at the highly sensitive hidden ring of muscle. All Geralt can do is sigh.

Jaskier torments him, alternating between long languid licks, hums, nips to his butt cheeks and kisses to Geralt’s trapped balls. It feels so good but the Champion fighter needs more. He shuffles back a fraction earning a huff of a laugh

Geralt can’t see much from his vantage point just past his bound cock and balls he can see Jaskier. Only just. Gloved hands parting and stroking trembling flanks, chin glistening and working as jaskier licks and tongues at his hole. Geralt growls and hugs against his forearms. The position he’s holding making the heartbeat throbbing through his dick all the more intense. There’s a movement. Jaskier’s is shuffling behind him, a few pumps onto fingers and a tentative slickly wet gloved index finger is pushed slooooowly past the tight ring of Geralt’s arsehole then firm wet pressure of the tip of a tongue laps at the point where that long dexterous finger is pushing in down to the second knuckle.

“Good?” His Lark breathes against Geralt’s butt cheek, giving it a little slick peck. The finger inside strokes slowly against Geralt’s inner walls. Gently searching. All the champion can do is nod dumbly. Nerve endings on edge already at the intrusion and the slippery slide of wet gauze adds a new sensory dimension to proceedings. “Good.” He mutters. And the finger inside him grows bolder, stroking and crooking. Another finger is added and ooooh that feels. Feels good. A free hand slides over his rump to angle Geralt’s hips up and further back. The effect is instantaneous as pads of those clever fingers graze over that spot deep inside and the older man surges forward then back to chase the intense spark of pleasure. The grip of that gloved hand at the crease of his hip strengthens its hold and his Lark mutters against him. “Ohhhhh there it is. Does that feel good dear heart? Look at you taking my fingers so beautifully. Again?” “Dammit jaskier.... please. Yes..” he’s not being pushy... certainly NOT needy. (Well maybe a little.) but Geralt wants no... needs more. Wants to feel that again. Wants His Lark to do that again. And he does. That free arm loops under Geralt’s hips - minding his straining, leaking erection and yanks Geralt right to the edge of the bed. That tongue lashes at the intimate skin of Geralt’s arse hole making the bigger man moan and sigh but he doesn’t move more then that. Surrenders all control to his lover who repays him by really moving those fingers deep inside him. Scissoring, stroking and relentlessly rubbing at his prostate each time. Thank god for that cock ring because without it Geralt would have come hard already. He can feel it now. A wild climb of hot white pleasure that’s not stopping. His balls ache with it. Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and pants hard. “Jask please! I need... I need. Need you now. Come on...”

Jaskier relents and withdraws his fingers from Geralt, that has the other man gasping and clenching at the loss. “On your back ‘White Wolf’ His Lark says. Tapping at a meaty well muscled thigh and Geralt goes as directed. Pillows are hastily manoeuvred and repositioned for both Geralt’s benefit and Jaskier’s vision of proceedings. Sloppy lubed kisses are exchanged that leaves Geralt’s stubbles chin shining just as much as his Lark’s.

Geralt reclines back on the bed, his lower back supported by firm pillows, and jaskier shifts between him. Geralt’s legs are spread wide and Hooked over His Nymph’s shoulders. He feels trapped, spread and bared to his lover. “Gods ... you’re Gorgeous.” Jaskier breathes above him, teasing the Champions arsehole with the slide of his dicktip. Geralt rumbles low in his throat and tries to rub back but the younger man has the upper hand. Shifting back before locking big blue eyes with the other man’s golden gaze and sliding his cock inch by inch into Geralt.

“Ooooh” they both moan low at the sensation. Geralt can feel his Nymph’s heartbeat deep inside his hot channel. Feel him twitch in pleasure. His own thick cock red with strain and leaking steadily onto his bunched abdominals. “Ooooh fuck....” jaskier gives him time to adjust to the full feeling and kisses at the thin skin of Geralt’s inner knees. His cheeks are red, sweat has curled his heavy fringe and he’s heaving in lungfuls of air. Jaskier looks so good. So downright devilish. It’s only when Geralt nods does his Nymph move. Slowly at first. The really move. Tilting his hips, dragging the strokes of his cock deep into Geralt. He’s got hold of Geralt’s thighs for leverage and it’s all the Champion can do but to take and take it.

Jaskier slows suddenly only to generously drizzle lube at the point where the men are joined straight from the bottle. The added slick makes the sounds of slapping skin all the more filthy as he picks up the pace, leaning over Geralt. Both men glisten with sweat, panting and moaning. Geralt reaches out blindly to grab at his Nymph but all his strong hands can reach are Jaskier’s knees, the outer edge of a thigh. Jaskier crowds over him as best he can, making the angle deep and more intense. He eyes Geralt’s cock hungrily, flashing a grin as he pounds against his prostate on each thrust. “Fuck... fuck. I’m not going to last. He pants, squeezing his eyes shut. Geralt is more then certain if he wasn’t wearing the ring he would have come well before Jaskier got his second finger inside him. clenching down he purrs up at the man above him. Well as best he can with all that pleasure going straight through him. His cock and balls are tingling so painfully hard. There’s a steady drool of precome leaking from the reddened tip. It doesn’t hurt hurt.... just the bite of extreme pleasure. He’s gasping hard and cannot come. But he really wants jaskier to. He wants to see him FEEL him lose it and there’s is a feral piece inside Geralt that needs it. “Jaskier.... jask feels so goood FUCK. Come. Come on ugh Let go.” He grinds out. Eyes flying open to watch as The DJ’s thrust falter and he opens his eyes. Jaskier has bitten his bottom lip to pieces with the exertion of it all. Blue eyes flutter shut as he comes hard with a moan. Lips making a pretty red O as he pumps his hips deeply a few more times spilling inside Geralt who gasps at the hot sensation of being filled

Jaskier sits back and Geralt is silently grateful, amazing physicality and all but the depth of the position they were in was going to make his abs cramp up and Geralt doesn’t want that distracting him from the moment. Jaskier is still buried deep in him, trying to catch his breath above him and despite the insistent need screaming in Geralt’s balls for release he’d stay here just to watch his Lark ‘come down’ from the post orgasm high.

Geralt clenches down that that makes his Lark’s eyes fly open. “Uuuh no no.” He half-laughs and sighs, kissing Geralt’s knees and stroking the tops of lightly furred shins. Yes that was mean but jaskier HAS done that some move to Geralt while he was balls deep and now he knows the feeling too.

Slowly slowly jaskier moves, retreating back while sliding wetted gloved hands up to hold Geralt’s strong legs aloft in the same position. He wants to see what he’s done to the champion. Jaskier is into his visuals. Geralt can’t see but he can feel and to slow firm wet slide of his lover’s cock, dragging back out of his hole over heightened nerve endings is going straight to Geralt’s cock - that persistent throb of his heartbeat hasn’t dulled. He’s sure if Jask so much as breathed heavy over his tightly trussed balls that would have him crying out.

There’s a slide back that makes both men hiss. The bastard is teasing him, knows how sensitive Geralt feels. How much he needs to come but has slid his dick tip back into his hole. Geralt growls low his patience hanging by a thread and addled with lust. “Jaskier..” “Mmmm..” he gets in reply as he receives a few more softening strokes before Jaskier’s cock slips free and the younger man sits back on his haunches breathing heavily and lowing Geralt’s legs down one-by-one. Rubbing over the tense and tingling muscles of calves that have been held in position.

He looks at Geralt’s impressive length trapped by the intimate jewellery and Geralt swears he sees the DJ’s mouth open a fraction. “What do you need Witcher?” Jaskier asks. He’s not dumb he know Geralt NEEDS to come so desperately needs it but he wants to know how he wants it. “Lie down little Lark.” He grunts, sitting up - wincing a little at the sensation both from the pressure in his dick and feeling of being so thoroughly fucked by his lover a few moments ago. Jaskier leans back onto to bed and Geralt follows closely to tower over his smaller lover, kneeling at the left side of the younger man’s head.

Grabby hands make for the loop that’s holding Geralt’s balls. He sighs loudly and grips the head board as jaskier frees them, a silky wet hazy thumbs massaging the crease between his aching sac has the champion gritting his teeth until it stops. Then two gloved hands slide the second larger ring that has been keeping his cock flushed red, up from the snug fit at the base up up up and off. The crinkle of foreskin over the tip has Geralt’s thighs shake. Jaskier cranes his neck forward to lick the red indent where the band sat at the base of Geralt’s length making the other man purr. He cards large thick fingers through the heavy dark fringe of his Nymph’s hair to the scalp and blue eyes look up at him. Bright and trusting his mouth open. “Open wider little Lark.” Geralt rumbles above him, voice going an impossible octave lower.

Jaskier does, flattening his tongue and Geralt carefully feeds inches of his large cock into his waiting mouth.

It feels like bliss and looks so sinful. Geralt has his eyes locked on Jaskier’s. On his mouth. On the point where his cock slides back and forth into his Lark’s open mouth. It’s taking all Geralt’s willpower not to rut into that welcoming wet heat but in the back of his mind past that feral beast is something logical and one heartbreaking memory he really really doesn’t want to think of right now.

It’s there he remembers clearly. His Lark lying in a sterile bed. Regardless of the best private health care money could buy ALL hospitals smell the same. The grainy image taken by some fucker they never caught. Jaskier with tubes up his nose and cannulas in his arms. Pale and vulnerable and someone got to him before Geralt did. Forced his head back to get a better picture for the tabloid sleaze that the picture got sold to. Bright eyes rolled back into his skull from anaesthesia. Mouth open. Not like now. NOT like now.

Geralt knows he’d never hurt Jaskier. Knows he’d never go too far. He’s mindful still of his Lark’s surgery. Never goes too far. Only with what is comfortable for them both. He’s aware of his own strength but that doesn’t mean he isn’t cautious. Even now at a time like this where he’s on the edge and jaskier trusts him so. A slender hand goes to rest on top of the his larger one gripping dark hair. Another hand slides up the back of his thigh. His Lark fixes Geralt with a look, hums and hollows his cheeks, sucking and dragging, his mouth over the inches of Geralt’s large cock that his willing to give. bobbing his head, looking up at the champion all the while as if to say. ‘I’ve got you. I’m okay.’

Geralt breaths loudly through his mouth. the room is filled with the sounds of sucking, sighs and moans from the both of them. Geralt minutely moves his hips in time, stroking firmly over the rest of his cock that won’t fit in Jaskier’s mouth. He can feel it. That tell-tale prick of fire in Geralt’s spine to his balls. And when jaskier pulls back to tongue at his leaking cockhead he knows that’s it. “Ugh yes...” he cries and lets go of Jaskier’s hair. The younger man lies back. lips swollen and red, baring his neck, ready to receive his prize. Geralt arches over him stroking over his thick cock furiously, while his other hand goes to Jaskier’s cheek. Looking at him intently. ‘ mark him. He’s yours.’

Geralt comes with such intensity it has him crying out. His balls clenching painfully as he spurts thick stripes of come over Jaskier’s neck. Painting his lover with a real pearl necklace.

Geralt’s breath comes in heaving gasps as he steadies himself against the headboard. Then scoots down to lie next to the DJ who’s looking at him, enraptured. Jaskier’s neck is shiny with his release. He looks thoroughly debauched.

Geralt grimaced as he moves. Jaskier’s seed has seeped out a little bit. Geralt has gone heavily boneless from his orgasm. The afterglow making him boneless and beyond caring at this point. Jaskier half-harteadly sits up and removes the long opera gloves, now soiled and beyond saving. Flinging them away to land on the wooden floor with a wet smack. He wrinkles his nose at that before turning to Geralt and tenderly touch his cheek with bare fingers for the first time that night. “How do you feel dear heart?” “Mmm..” Geralt answers, fighting to keep his eyes open in the post-coital haze. “amazing.... almost as good as you look.” And he reaches out to touch a drying edge on Jaskier’s neck. “Mmm... you did give me one after all. I’ll wear it with pride.” His Lark says smugly. “...... until you have to wash it off to be seen decently in public.” Geralt says with a sleep snort of laughter. Which earns him a weak wave of the hand back. “Ehhh .... we’ll clean up later...... Now sleep...”. He yawns and snuggles into Geralt’s side, dark head automatically going to the dip where shoulder meets furred firm chest. A arm flung over the champions lap. If Geralt was a poetic man (like his lover) he’d say that, that space was built for jaskier, but he’s not that big a speaker or that type to say it. Instead Geralt thinks it as he pulls the duvet up over them. Both men are sound asleep by the time moon comes up bathing them in a pale glow.


	3. LOVE and plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the morning after the night before. There are plans and travels.

It’s close to noon when Geralt surfaces. He’s achey in the best places and his skin has that squeaky salt sheen of dried on sweat from the previous night’s activities. There’s sunlight streaming in all warm and inviting... heating the large bedroom. Geralt gives a long full body stretch. Bunching the sheets down lower and spreads an arm out beside him. Only to hit cool bed linens. “Hmmm....” Geralt looks over. Yes indeed his Lark is truly missing from their bed.

He huffs and slowly rises and naked as the day he was born although older and more considerably built, Geralt goes and showers. Setting the rainshower to the strongest setting and as blessedly cool as he could take. Returning to the bedroom clad in a white fluffy towel and scrubbing at his head with a short hand towel, Geralt notes the large bay windows that lead out onto his and Jaskier’s private deck have been flung open. The detritus of their frenzied lovemaking have been picked up (and probably had a ceremonial burning out front.) his new leather jacket has been hung infront of the armoire with care. This makes Geralt smile. He chuckles a little under his breath when he notes that the wrapping paper he carelessly discarded on the floor the previous day has also gone. Someone has been busy. It’s then that Geralt hears it. A unmistakable Male voice. Whistling away outside in the sunshine and cool air. The champion tosses the hand towel down on the end of their unmade bed and ventures out of the double doors.

The decking is pleasantly warm under Geralt’s bare feet and there is a light breeze, bringing the scent of sun warmed earth, pine trees and other softwoods. The views of nature surrounding their home are truly something and nothing he’d ever tire of. Geralt rounds the corner to see jaskier busying himself with their hot tub. The younger man has undone the canvas canopy that that is usually strung over the bubbling tub as shelter from leave litter and little critters (forest life.). It’s been carefully rolled up and tied to the redwood that’s closest to the edge of the deck. Jaskier’s just about to unclip the cover of the hot tub when he looks up and the whistle of a ditty he was concocting tails off. His Lark is beaming at Geralt.... like he’s the DJ’s whole world and he’s been waiting for him. “Good Morning you scamp, I wondered when you’d surface. Sleep well?” He saunters up to the champion and slides long dexterous fingers along the shower-damp skin of Geralt’s well built shoulders and kisses him good morning. Geralt’s hands automatically go to Jaskier’s thin waist and he rumbles low into the touch of his Lark’s lips against his.

Jaskier is clad in gucci swim shorts in muted green with Japanese block print tigers. The thick band of red and green sits low on the DJ’s slim hips and he’s forgone a shirt which leaves all that lovely skin on show. Jaskier kisses him again quick on the lips before running back to the task at hand. Never still for long is his Lark. Geralt goes to help as the stiff leather and wood cover is unclipped from place and up-ended onto its side. Both men roll the giant unwieldy disk to rest against the side of the cabin. “I DID sleep great. That may have had something to do with you. Mmm.....it was Heavy. I noticed you were gone... what time did you get up Jask?” He asks, brows quirking as the man infront chews his lip and goes back to the tub to dip a toe in the bubbling water

His Lark fidgets with his fingers as he nods approvingly at the hot tub, happy with the temperature it seems. rings clink together as he twiddles looking away at the stunning landscape then back to Geralt. “Ah .... well I got up early. Saw you were out for the count. By the way those snuffling noises you make...” Geralt wrinkled his nose at that. He does NOT snuffle in his sleep. Jaskier continues. His words a quick elated rush. The younger man is clearly excited about something and racing through his story to get to the good part. Why he has to always string out a story is beyond the champion. Nonetheless it’s an endearing quirk. So he folds his arms as jaskier continues to chatter, gesticulating with those bedecked hands of his. “- very sweet. I could record them and bury them in a track—“ “DON’T you dare Jaskier.” Geralt warns but his Lark is on a roll here still talking away “and so I crept out as quiet as a church mouse. Put away our ahem, affects, hung your jacket, oh and THANK you for leaving the wrapping on the floor.” Jaskier’s eyes rolled skyward. He must have seen the corner of Geralt’s mouth tick up. He knew he’d be busted for that one. “You can be such an oaf.” The DJ mock-lamented before carrying on. “Oh and sadly the gloves and panties didn’t make it. The poor things are now in the log burner. Do you think I should ask nicely for some more?” Then the champion gave a small smile. “I’d say they were a good addition to your ridiculously big wardrobe..... but the same fate might happen to the next set.” 

“.....yeah....” Jaskier matched his smile, then carried right on. “So I went to the office. Went through emails. Priscilla has new tour dates and there’s a new proof for the next album campaign blah blah blah..... but here’s the best part. The most exciting news. I mean apart from you being the new UGC heavyweight champion of coarse. So remember I was looking into adding a new property to our portfolio in France?” Geralt nods. He thinks he knows where this is going. “Well now I saw a place, out in the south of France a region called Verdun. A 18th century chateau. Absolutely stunning I mean it needs work but. Oh gods Geralt.... the potential! Soooo I put in an offer with the owners. The paperwork has only just been finalised and well.... I’ve only just gone and bloody bought it!” His Lark. His chaos bird is giddy. Hands in fists and shaking with excitement.

Jaskier reaches down next to the tub and grabs two glasses. Geralt recognises them. Ahhhh they are the drinks from last night that both men didn’t finish. 

Jaskier hands him one of the tumblers. The golden liquid has a separation of the ice water from last night and the glass is warm in his large hand but fuck it. It’s good scotch and he’s not going to waste that EVEN if it is still morning. Too early for booze really

Jaskier grins wide holding his own drink. “I can’t wait for you to see it Geralt. It’s beautiful. Our own estate. It’s so grand. Well.... will be. Oh! I could be a viscount... well actually it’s France so... Vicomte.” He’s looking wistfully into the far off distance, Off into the ‘ether’. Geralt bets in his minds eye, his Lark is already there at the Chateau, already refurbished and fabulous. 

Jaskier breaks out of his reverie to clink his glass against Geralt’s. “To you. To us.” He waggles the glass, sloshing the Amber liquid. “ the breakfast of champions.” His Nymph teases.

Geralt takes a long sip. The scotch, even though watered down and warmed is still smooth with that lingering alcoholic bite at the back of the throat, warming the champion from the inside. “Hmmm...” he purrs looking at the younger man in front who also makes a appreciative noise at his own glass. “Well....” Geralt clears his throat, gesturing with his drink at the inviting looking hot tub, the steam rising off the waters surface to be whipped away by the breeze. “I’d better change, I’m too underdressed. As Geralt retreats back to their bedroom he calls behind him. “You can show me pictures of your new kingdom when I come back.” He doesn’t see so much as hear Jaskier leap off the deck and scamper off to the out-office.

He chooses a pair of black neoprene Calvin swim shorts. More the boxer brief style that clings like a compression short with a thick white drawstring band that sits low on his waist. Geralt’s not ashamed of his body. The scars he’s gained over the years in the octagon were something he had, over time come to accept. Now they are almost bookmarks of his personal history. Jaskier may have been instrumental in this new mindset. His quiet praise and kisses to the marks of mottled uneven skin. So different to Geralt’s past lovers..... most notably Yennefer, whose love and personal quest for perfection bled into how she viewed and judged those around her.

Geralt could still recall the first time he stripped infront of the health/wellbeing maven. Her wrinkled look of judgement (and disgust) at the scars that crisscrossed his warrior body was quickly masked over with feigned concern and simmering lust. It was not quick enough. Geralt had still spotted it. 

Really he should have seen their doomed romance coming after that. But still Geralt has gone back and forth with Yen. Looking for love and affection and getting hurt when her moods flared and the rage he’d feel at being treated as less than her equal, sometimes openly infront of peers and the public.

What was the definition of insanity? ‘Doing the same thing over and over expecting the same result?’

In the end something breaks. So instead of continuing to ‘break his back’ Geralt walked away.

It was one of the best things he did in the end. Not that Geralt knew it at the time of coarse. Now he could see the difference in the way he was loved. Geralt stared at himself in their full length mirror. There was nothing to be ashamed of. He knew that now.

The champion scraped his back and tied it up into a bun. ( the bromide stink would be hard enough to scrub off his skin later, let alone get it out of his hair) and went back out onto their private deck. Jaskier was already out and in the bubbly warm water, leaning out of it with an iPad and his drink. Somehow that Nymph of his had also magicked up a plate of freshly-cut fruit, and a pitcher of sparkling water aaaaaand Geralt’s tinted gucci sunglasses, which he handed to him as Geralt stepped down into the deep vat

Geralt stepped down and sank into the Bubbling depths of the deep set wooden tub. He put on the sunglasses on and came to stand with his Lark. Geralt leaned over the side to take a peek at what Jaskier had up on the tablet. If he were a betting man... he’d say they were pictures of the the new property. Geralt slipped an arm around his Nymph and sipped on his warm scotch.

They trade slices of fruit with mouthfuls of scotch and excited conversation under the bright morning sun. Jaskier is clearly excited and already in his minds-eye can see the changes to the Château come to fruition. Geralt loves to see the DJ like this. The spark of creativity takes hold it makes Jask’s whole being light up. “So we now own the surrounding grounds...... erm including the last remains of a medieval fort. Oh no no we don’t quite own THAT that’s with the French historical heritage committee. Oh I think we are custodians? Anywaaaay” as jaskier talks he’s scrolling away at floorplans, maps and images. “94 rooms, 5 floors of architectural beauty by Ange-Jacques Gabriel. The architect who designed the Petit Trianon for Marie Antionette. How amazing is that?” Geralt hums along in acknowledgment, he DOES NOT want to know how much this has cost Jaskier. 

What Geralt can see under glare of the sun is an enchanting old ruin, in the shadow of the great Pyrénées. With decaying walls, fruit trees, crumbling plaster and rusted antique wrought iron. He’d hate to admit it but the prospect of a big project like that has Geralt’s fingers itching. 

Both men do not notice the near silent crunch of shingle. A BMWi8 in all its near space age glory tricked out and bedecked in Swarovski crystals gleams out front of their rural hideaway home. The security pin, deftly silenced with a practiced tap of chromatic manicured nails.

Alizee goes practically unnoticed by both men until she comes to stand infront of them. To most the one woman powerhouse, mogul and manager poses an intimidating figure (Geralt has seen Kris Jenner move out of Alizee’s way on more then one occasion) and yet to those in her inner circle - the frosty exterior melts. No where was this more evident then with jaskier and himself.

Alizee is dressed in a vintage Alexander McQueen structured jacket - all sharp shoulders, exquisite tailoring and sweeping hems. wide silver and leathette belt cinching her in and making Alizee’s silhouette all the more striking. Icy platinum locks swept to one side in textured waves that would have Veronica Lake green with envy. Vegan leather trousers that look painted on her long legs that seemingly meld into black pointed boots with shining silver platform heels. “Gentlemen...” she coolly says by way of greeting before leaning down to great both her clients/friends with a kiss to each cheek. Jaskier leans up into her touch like a kitten about to be pet by their favourite human. Geralt is all the more casual and mindful of ruining her outfit with his bromide soaked skin.

“Hello Charlie...” jaskier song-songs up at his manager like an ‘Angel’ (one of the very few people who could and get away with it) Alizee’s cool demeanour softens and she hopes down off the deck (quite a marvel in that footwear), gives the grooved wood a good wipe then perches on it. Alizee produces a shining tiny tablet from a inner pocket hidden within her jacket and begins tapping away as she talks. “Well congratulations Geralt.... I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your celebration dinner yesterday. I had to get somethings out of the way.” The way Alizee says ‘out of the way’ means something. It’s code. He can’t be sure, but Geralt could make a guess that their manager has been putting the fear of god into some poor wretched fool who’s crossed her or them. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Hmmm .... Thankyou.” He nods and drains the last of his warm scotch in salute then refilling the glass with sparkling water and gulping down half of that. The bubbles are cool and crisp in Geralt’s throat. A pleasant prickling sensation after the heated alcohol. Jaskier is by his side, sweeping with his finger casually at his own tablet - images of the french dilapidated property his own glass, drained and replenished with bubbly water. The DJ takes a sip as Alizee looks over her oversized vintage Versace sunglasses to eye the image appraisingly. “I think...... it’s a solid investment, Jaskier. Given the time, hoop-jumping with the local historical society and labour needed.... it could even be a great one.”  
That makes Jaskier smile wide.

In the end Alizee leaves after two hours of an impromptu work meeting. Jaskier had even gotten out of their tub to get her a drink (fresh orange and soda) and they get on with strategising on their next moves in the fame game - interview deals, social media (yes a lot is planned for the ‘gram), fashion shoots -Donatella is playing hardball for Geralt to star in her latest campaign- and then his comeback bout dates. Jaskier’s plate is equally full. He’s got radio guest spots (the Thought makes Geralt feel uneasy) another shoot with Gucci, this Haus Laboratories collaboration with Gaga, then on the promo tour for his latest album. Alizee runs through all these without break a beat or a sweat. Their respective PA’s will fly into panic Geralt suspects. At least before the whirlwind starts again the men can go visit Jaskier’s new purchase.

The flight over from Santa Rosa airport to Paris and the train plus private car took a total of 16 hours Geralt himself was fine with it. It wasn’t the longest he’d ever travelled (hello - MMA fighting champion, that profession sent him everywhere, including out to Asia..... a hella long way from the US. Jaskier also was used to with it what with being a world renowned DJ constantly being carted out on-tour and festival circuits. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t any easier for the younger man to contain his excitement at getting to their current destination. Ariège in the Occitània region of the south of France.

The ride is smooth on the way. The City of Foix is charming with its ancient medieval battlements part of the hustle and bustle of peak cosmopolitan life. Boutiques, boulangeries, Art galleries, restaurants, sport apparel shops and bars. (Afterall this region was within a stones throw of the majestic Pyrenees. Geralt checks his email and texts periodically - Ciri wants updates, Yen wants to irritate and Alizee wants to help. Geralt huffs and looks over at his Lark. Jaskier is all nervous energy. His leg is doing ‘ten-to-the-dozen’ and he’s tapping a staccato rhythm out on his other thigh. “Okay..?” Geralt asks, knowing full well the DJ’s answer. “Mmm...?” The younger man replies, drawing this attention from the quickly whipping by scenery of quaint french countryside to look at Geralt. “Mmm! Yes... oh.”  
He gestures to his own juddery leg. “Yes.. nervous. Excited. Well.... nervously excited. The thing is..... I ummm never viewed the Château....... with my own eyes... face-to-face. It was all over Zoom. And patchy at best.” Keeps his quiet shock to himself (the man has an excellent poker face), the fact that he can only imagine the cost of the listing, how much it’s costing Jaskier..... and that’s without all the fees and renovations.... he just hopes it’s what jaskier is wanting and dreaming of. So Geralt instead settles for reaching across the cool leather seating and taking Jaskier’s hand and giving him a steady, reassuring squeeze. Jaskier gives a smile. It’s small and still billies his nerves. “Hmmm...” Geralt rumbles at that. the MMA decides he can do better. He unclips his seatbelt (setting off the safety-sensor in the car - making the chauffeur tut) and leans over the younger man’s side to bring a large warm palm to Jaskier’s soft cheek. Geralt pulls him into a warm wet kiss with a hint of the tip of his tongue.

Jaskier reciprocates eagerly, shuffling bodily closer to the older man, well as much as he can while still belted and opens his mouth to recieve more of the slide of Geralt’s tongue. Geralt feels a hand on his shoulder - now no longer pre-occupied with drumming on legs. The kiss deepens with the slow trading of breath, saliva a few choice nips on lips. The irritation of the belt alarm forgotten.

Both men don’t notice the stop of the car. It’s only when there is a quick curt rapp on the blacked out window of Geralt’s door, do both men break off the makeout session.

The car door opens to 3 official-looking men wearing hard harms and high-viz jackets over smart-casual attire. A woman standing to the right holding a portfolio and tablet. Hair impeccably teased to perfection and the the sort of art-smart clothing that says ‘hip-curator’. The chauffeur stands silently, holding the door open with an expectant face. Geralt clears his throat, ready to have a smart comment on hand, suspecting that the chauffeur COULD have given Jaskier and himself a heads up first (maybe they made him uncomfortable and this little awkward tableaux with very official business people is payback?) Geralt clears his throat but before he can utter something a bit cutting jaskier crosses over his side and is out of the car. His Lark is all smiles and charm, never mind that his lips are a bit kiss-bruised, his hair mussed and cheeks flushed. The DJ is all exuberance and air-kisses. Fluent french rolling off Jaskier’s tongue as Geralt climbs out of the car and follows his Larks lead. The MMA champion’s french is limited to “bonjour” “monsieur madame” “puis-je avoir une bière” “où se trouve” and a few other choice phrases. Ask Geralt about his Portuguese tho

Ask Geralt about his Portuguese tho, or his Filipino for that matter? He can speak both. Jaskier likes it when he does slip a few choice curses in those languages on the day to day. A bit like how Geralt is enjoying watching the younger man right now commanding the presence of those around him.

Jaskier is dressed casually (as much as he can be for him) in ‘structured fit’ blue vetements jeans, white Adidas shell-toe  
Stans, Gucci red raw-silk shirt (that would make mick jagger envious) and heavy Dries Van Noten longline jacket. 

Geralt steps back a bit to look at the magnificent sight that lies in wait before them. In the shadows of the Snow-peaked Pyrenees is the Château.

It is the most Enchanting old ruin.   
A monolith in Neoclassical style, the ‘Wild’ has claimed it for their own. It’s Chipped brick work, broken windows and decaying plaster can be overlooked for what was once a great beauty and Geralt is sure with a lot of hard work both himself and Jaskier can make so again.

The 4 officials lead both Jaskier and Geralt up the twin sets of stairs that lead up to the built-up chateau, by this time their have been polite introductions (Jacques, Luc, Pierre and Monique) with English on Geralt’s behalf - ‘don’t make your respective buyers and work colleagues struggle to understand you.’ Geralt surmises quietly to himself and feels the anxiousness leave his broad shoulders. just looking up he can see that there is plenty of weather damage to the exterior. The decorative shutters that frame each enormous window are either hanging by rusted hinges, disintegrated in some places and sun-bleached. Then there’s the broken or lack of glass in the window panes. The thought of just making the structure water-tight again makes Geralt’s fingers itch. The outdoor stairs need re-paving, loose flagstones and mortar crunch beneath Geralt’s Boots. He’s gland he went with sensible, comfy attire. The boots are black Dr Martens 8-eye - well worn and scuffed, the jeans are G-Star also in black but the vest top and Hoodie Geralt’s wearing are his own Witcher merch. Black with a white stripe the runs up from the cuffed sleeve to shoulder with black symbols inside. - a best seller on the online store. Geralt pockets his Gucci aviators and cards a hand through his silvery hair and pops on the offered hardhat as Pierre produces a well stacked ring of keys and unlocks the old, faded front doors. Jaskier sidles up next to him, sporting his own hardhat. Blue eyes slight with barely contained excitement.   
“Voila! Welcome to your new home.” Pierre says in thick regional accent.   
Luc and Jacques gently pull the double doors open, Monique stands by the side with an expectant face, her arms loaded with paperwork and a tablet. Letting the new owners step in first. Giving them the moment. 

“Oooooooh..... She’s Gorgeous...” Jaskier gasps as he wanders into the Entrance hall. There were 3 rooms that branched off- Left, Right and straight ahead. Geralt watches as his Lark spins on his back heel, head tilted up to take it all in. “She?” He asks with mild amusement while also taking in the vast space of cracked stone flooring, mountains of dust and peeling wallpaper. “Of course..... She’s a She...” Jaskier stops his second turn abruptly to eye Geralt with a ‘matter-of-fact’ expression ‘this..... pooor old Lady.... we’ve adopted.... we’ll have her looking back to her beautiful self soon.” And with that the DJ was striding ahead to a second hall. Their company following suit along in Jaskier’s wake with puzzled faces. Geralt Jung back a little before following on He wanted to see more from a distance. To read the people involved as well as the space. “Of coarse....... an old lady. Of coarse...” he grinned muttering to himself as he followed on behind them.

The second hall contained a vast sweeping staircase made of pale stone that curved up running up along the crumbling walls the railing made out of ornate wrought black iron was currently rusty in places and a spider habitat. But still beautiful. On the floor next to the staircase was a huge chandelier with long chain and fixings must have come away from the high ceiling above. It had the same artistic metalwork that matched the railing. 

Jaskier woops with delight at this, fingering the poor begotten thing. “Oh you are gorgeous..... poor thing we’ll have you back up.... Geralt look! It’s it gorgeous?” “Hmmm...... and Heavy...” is Geralt’s reply as he picks up the mass of bolts and metal that was once the ceiling fixture. And cranes his neck up to see where it was supposed to go. “We are going to need scaffolding to get up there.” “Yes... Yes...and supports to fix the roof.” Pierre pips in helpfully, Monique also steps forward, gesticulating with a freehand skyward while his little Lark has moved on to sliding along one of the dusty steps of the great staircase before bolting up 3 at a time. “The tiles must fit the region, yes? They must be made made locally to the size, and the right clay must be used.” “Hmmm..” Geralt is already starting to get a feel of how many hoops they will be jumping with the historical society AND the local councillors. This is going to give him a headache. It’s then that Geralt hears a familiar voice, male and downright giddy with excitement. “These stairs are not condemned I hope! Geralt come up you’ve got to see the view!” His Lark his halfway up and peering out of one of five of windows that look out onto a courtyard. “Oh yes!” Exclaims Monique running up to join Jaskier and pointing out the window. “Look across the enclosed courtyard. There you can see the medieval turret! It is connected to the rest of the chateau but unlike these stairs.... it is not safe to enter.” “Yet.” Jaskier finished for her with keen resolution and a killawat smile. “Yes.... yet.” She chuckles as Geralt and the other men join them to look out at the crumbling structure. 

The tour goes on much like this. They are able to view 54 out 94 rooms in total all with surprising ease and most of the five floors in total bar the medieval turret which Jaskier pouts at but understands. The tour is as much technical as it is an adventure. From discovery to discovery Jaskier converses excitedly with Luc, Jaques, Pierre and Monique in both french and English - more for Geralt’s benefit. They talk structural integrity, the importance or honouring the heritage of the region and more importantly cost. A few treasures are uncovered along the way. An armoire filled with scrolls of vintage wallpaper, A jewellery box made of walnut and sliver, in one of the attic rooms they look up to find that the eaves have been decorated in colourful stencilling. There are two courtyards in total and a Large walled garden that much like the rest of the place, was once a great beauty but now nature has taken it back. The grass overgrown with great patches of nettles nearly a foot tall. the odd shock of vibrant wildflowers in blues and reds. Daises and buttercups carpeting once pristine borders and dandelion heads scattered throughout.

Geralt hasn’t put much up on his social media for a while (he tends to go weeks if not months without uploading onto Instagram unless something truly notable happens or he’s inspired. And so it’s about 3pm in the south of France that @GeraltRiviaOfficial pings up a fresh image.

It’s of the walled garden in bright warm sunlight and amongst the feral nature stands Jaskier with his arms outstretched, sunglasses on and head leaned back. Beaming up at the sun. It doesn’t need a filter. There’s beauty in the simplicity and the caption underneath reads. Nymph’s new home. #thewild.


	4. LOVE and lipstick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has things to do, surprises to organise and people to miss.

6 months pass before Geralt makes it back to the Chateau. 6 long months of cross-crossing the globe on tours, work commitments and family obligations. Jaskier keeps the still reigning UFC heavyweight champ abreast of restoration work that is happening and the headaches and pitfalls that come along with such an enormous undertaking. 

Geralt marvels at the younger man’s drive and work ethic. Jaskier for the most part of the year has been on the press tour trail for his newest album. The only time Geralt has managed to see his busy Lark is through private Skype calls, Zoom meetings with Alizee and Priscilla - Jask’s PA and late night phone calls. Does it put a strain on their relationship? Not really. Geralt has always had quite the nomadic lifestyle due to work and has always had his heart put in other places (Ciri living in new York, while he would be out on the fight circuit.) so this is nothing new to the champion and yet....

Sometimes while alone, waking groggily from sleep Geralt forgets where he is - not some 5 star soulless hotel suite with its lavish amenities. No....   
but lying in a massive bed under scrunch-soft sheets with a ring-bedecked hand snaked over his side to rest at the centre of his furred chest. He can even smell the earthy scent of the forest outside the cabin and unmistakable musk of vetiver and cedarwood shower gel. 

Then Geralt comes fully to and reality of where he is sets in. A hollowed feeling that sits under his ribs pangs to life and he huffs, scrubs a wide palm over his face and goes about his day as planned. 

After a long soak in a huge bath tub that could easily fit 3 people and a (rather disappointing continental breakfast of poached eggs and deli meats (he’s back on a cut.) in the secluded in-house restaurant. Geralt heads out of the swanky hotel Bourg-Tibourg out the bustling streets of Foix. Although there are the stirrings of the beginning of winter in the mountain region, as evident with the influx of the rich and ski-mad holiday makers, the air is crisp and sun still shining. The valet brings Geralt’s rental car over to the front while the doorman wishes him a good day in French-tinged English. Geralt nods his thanks and heads down to the waiting vehicle. He really should have known. Alizee has obviously had a hand in picking out the car with his PA. standing out, stark against the light smattering of icy snow was a bugatti la voiture noire. the valet still had the engine running which gave the super car the faintest look of a puma purring out a warning ready to attack. 

The valet giddy at the hard-withheld excitement at such a machine hands the fob over and Geralt rumbles a “Merci” his way before sliding into the buggati.   
It’s all chrome and leather perfection with the highest craftsmanship. Geralt checks his mirrors, adjust the seats, sets his iPhone in the holding port and guns the engine. The hypecar roars to life, startling sleepy locals out of the way making Geralt smirk just a little. 

The voiture noire draws glances as Geralt navigates his way out of the medieval city out towards the Pyrenees. Once on the steady climb to the secluded Chateau Geralt calls Alizee on speaker. The Champion isn’t sure where in the world his manager but if there’s one thing he does know is that the mega-mogul will always pick up her clients call. Two rings on the other end and a smooth feminine voice comes through the sound system “Hello Geralt..... I take it you like my latest toy?” He chuckles low in his throat as he has the voiture noire take a ‘racing line’ round a sharp corner on the alpine trail just a little bit too fast. “Hmmm .... I think the valet nearly came in his pants.” He mutters with a little humour colouring his words. “That was the desired affect. You mean business Geralt. The car shows the power to those around you. Who has the ‘bigger stick’ when dealing with officials and contractors is a useful tactic. Especially when they assume owners from another continent have no idea what they are doing.” Alizee says with a measured tone. Indeed it was true that the current renovations had caused a headache for Jaskier. There had been more then one occasion Geralt had found his Lark’s side of the bed empty in the middle of the night and had found the out-office lights on. 

Geralt remembers his Lark, clad in a silk robe - pacing back and forth like a agitated bobcat talking heatedly over the phone console in french to site managers and society figureheads. The younger man’s eyes like a storm and nearly tearing his hair out. It turned out the steel girders (that had been made specially in Switzerland) needed for safe access of the tower were being held at at the closest industrial port and yet the cranes were on site. That night had ended angered shouts of frustration and Geralt fucking Jaskier so hard he’s sure they would have gone through the office wall. 

“Hmm... very true. Thankyou Alizee.” He rumbles. As the voiture noire corners off a beaten track through the walled ancient gateway and up to the chateau “That’s okay, just do Jaskier proud and don’t let those workers touch it. They can look with their eyes. Not with their hands. Speak soon Geralt.” And she’s gone before he has a chance to reply. 

“Hmm.....” The champion’s mouth goes to a thin line as the vast property looms large. The hypecar glides to a stop out front from the double steps. There are signs of construction alright. One enormous skip full of old rotten wood, smashed window panes, plaster and earth. 2 cranes on low-loaders peek over the roof, one digger, steel girders piled up against the ornamental garden wall, all the shutters thrown into a pile near the entrance, portable site office, honey wagon are off to the right. 

It’s a mixture efficiency and taking the piss that makes Geralt grit his teeth and grip the steering wheel. workers in hardhats and hi-vis loiter about.... or they were til they spotted the voiture noire. Now there’s jaws on the floor and appreciative whistling. Geralt removes and pockets the fob (cutting the power) and gets out of the car - seemingly breaking the spell of the apparent ‘petrolheads’ that are the work crew. Who had been advancing on the voiture noire. 

It’s when they see the owner does Geralt see stuttered movement and mutterings in thick french. The workmen know who he is. And not to continue to fuck about on company time it seems. The champion hasn’t uttered a word to them but glared hard as impromptu football games were abandoned, radio stations silenced and workforce put back to the tasks at hand. 

Geralt snorts in disgust at the lackadaisical attitude, his temper simmering. Jaskier is paying through the nose for what? Them to play football and fuck about on the job. Walking over to the enormous pile of discarded shutters Geralt leans down to pick up one. It WOULD have been perfectly good to put back once all the new window frames and glass were put in but not now it’s been bashed and chipped with miss-care.  
So more money down the shitter for his Lark. 

Setting it down with care, Geralt heads to the onsite office. He’s been brushing up on his french with this just in mind. There’s shock on the faces of the site manager, foreman and few workers when Geralt barges into the static porta-cabin. There’s shocked faces along with echoes of “Oh Bonjour. Monsieur Rivia” good. They are scared.... they should be. 

“qu'est-ce qui se passe ici?” Geralt growls  
(What the fuck going on here?)  
He doesn’t give the site manager time to reply instead, Geralt stalks round the large cheap desk to get closer to the startled man whose face is rapidly turning scarlet with embarrassment.  
“Je conduis ici pour voir ce qui se passe, et qu'est-ce que je trouve? les gens que je paie pour jouer au putain de football?”  
(I drive up here to see what's going on, and what do i find? people I'm paying to play fucking football?) He’s not shouting. Geralt doesn’t have to, never has. His voice is measured but considerably dropped down a few octaves. A low and threatening growl. The ‘you will not fuck with me tone.’ He rarely has to use these days that makes those on the receiving end wish they’d worn the brown pants that day. 

“Je suis vraiment désolé M. Rivia. mais les hommes avaient besoin.....”  
(I'm so sorry Mr Rivia but the men needed...) the smaller man sputters as the foreman and a few workers look on silent.

“Je me fiche de ce dont ils ont besoin. Faites votre travail, mettez vos hommes sous contrôle ou vous aurez à m'inquiéter. et croyez-moi quand je dis, vous ne voulez pas”  
(I don't care what they fucking need. Do your job, get your men under control or you will have me to worry about. and trust me when I say, you don't want that.) Geralt towered over the shorter man, putting his hand on the site manager’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. His voice firm and steady, effectively telling the man exactly how things were going to be. 

The site manager’s face took on a ashen hue and he garbled out a quick. “Yes of coarse” in English. Geralt straightened up and took his hand off the shaken man, who took his que to scramble quickly away and out the door followed by the others. Geralt took in a deep breath and exhaled for longer -pulling the tension out of his shoulders. He was still pissed at the situation. 

One look out the window of the cabin confirms that Geralt’s words have had the desired effect. The site manager hurriedly rallying the men to work. There’s waving of hands and shouts that Geralt can’t quite catch. (Hey he’s come along way in learning french but he’s not that quick on it.) the Fighter nods pleased with himself before heading out to actually look at the place for himself. 

Workers scurry about, giving the Fighter a wide berth as he enters through the large doorway. A few men in hi-viz jackets sweep at debris and century old dust-bunnies as he goes past. All the while people nod and mutter a “Bonjour Monsieur.” His way. The entryway looks much better that their initial viewing. Walls rubbed and stripped back to display the more intricate features of baroque moulding. The great grind doors have warping and water damage and dings chipped out from carelessness so Geralt will be having to track someone to restore them better. 

Geralt’s golden gaze tracks everything as he moves through the building. Quietly studying the changes, what to trouble jaskier with and what minor details that he can deal with and nothing bother his Lark about. In the second hall the giant chandelier has been removed. When Geralt flags down one of the men who is coming by with a wheelbarrow full of lumps of rotten plaster he’s told that Monsieur Pankratz had it taken away to be cleaned. He nods at that noting that the grand staircase is blocked by men on scaffolding and boards simultaneously wrecking the windows and fixing the ceiling attachment for the aforementioned chandelier.

It’s all drilling, noise and dust and far too much for Geralt’s senses. He goes through one branching hallways and adjoining rooms just to get a bit more quiet. The room he finds himself in now (one of the 90 odd...) is empty and as of yet untouched. Boxy and pleasant with faded peach panelling and off-while moulding. The parquet flooring is uneven and worn with time, caked in dust. So not really much to be done in such a small space. That’s nice Geralt muses. It’s then he eyes the shrouded heap close to window. Some sort of begotten furniture for the era? Jaskier will be excited... Geralt more pragmatic especially if it some sort of un-salvageable nonsense that costs far more to restore as apposed to ditching. 

Gerslt takes off his leather jacket (the button stud present from his Lark) and rolls up the sleeves of his cable knit jumper. Although the sun is out there is a chill in the alpine air and there are still patches of ice and snow so Geralt has dressed with that in mind. Dark 7 for All Mankind jeans, black DMs, white jumper grey vest underneath and his black leather jacket. White Hair half tied back (although he’ll have to wash the grime of dust out of it later.)

A peek under the old cover yealds a rather interesting surprise for the Fighter. 

A piano.... well Geralt thinks it is. The poor begotten instrument has collapsed down on 2 of its 3 legs. There’s Keys missing to what look like a double set and lots of dust. Geralt clucks his tongue against his cheek in thought. 

On further investigation its quite an old beauty if the fighter doesn’t mind saying so, decorative panels, a look under the ‘hood’ of the instrument and apart from some large, agitated wolf spiders (native to the region) a mountain of cobwebs and a mess of strings there’s a nice motif hidden inside.

A plan already formulated. Geralt uncovers the piano the rest of the way and calls a few work men in to help left it. 

Within 10 minutes the piano is tied securely down in the back of a workman’s pickup. Jaskier’s going to love it if Geralt can keep the surprise till later. 

He’s chucked the owner of the pick up £€50 to follow him back into Foix and wait outside one of the various antique emporiums there. 

Geralt wanders in to the high end establishment and feels instantly out of place. Sticking out like a vast sore thumb amongst the high shine gems, cut glass, lacquered mahogany. There’s dust and dirt on his jeans and boots, his leather jacket sporting specks of peeling paint. The champion fighter must look farcical. Like a hulking great immovable object surrounded by treasure. Geralt grits his teeth and watches as a man in a finely tailored suit, showing off a prized painting to a middle-aged couple visibly pales as he spies Geralt. The man makes a bee-line for him and Geralt’s fingers itch. He plasters on a calm measured smile and greets the proprietor with a “Bonjour Monsieur.” Sticking his hand out in greeting. The man takes it briskly while eyeing Geralt warily.

“bonjour monsieur, comment puis-je vous aider?”  
(Hello sir, How May I help you?)

It was then that a Geralt’s mind drew a blank. Oh he knew what he wanted to say. He wanted the item out on the pickup out front restored and fuck the price. But the words were dying on his tongue. He frowned in frustration at himself which earned a puzzled look from the other man. 

There was one person who could help. Who’s skills in languages were far better then his own. Geralt fished his smartphone from his jacket pocket and motioned to it as he dialled. 

“un instant s'il vous plaît”  
(One moment please)

Geralt just hoped she was up.

There was a few rings and then a crackle and a young female voice. “Ugh Hello, Dad? Are you okay? It’s like.... middle of the night.”

“Fuck........ 6 hours ahead...” Geralt grumbles more to himself as he more accurately remembers the time zone differences. He scrubs a hand down his face suddenly feeling selfish as the shop owner looks on. “I’m sorry to wake you, Lion Cub.”

There’s a fat pause on the other end of the line and a little huff of breath. “Dad... Give me a sec. I’m putting you on FaceTime.”   
“No...no it’s okay Ciri-“ but before Geralt can grumble more protests, his darling daughter is already dialling that familiar insistent tone and the champion is already feeling foolish. Like Geralt wants to dig down into the floor because he needs his daughter’s help with a present for his lover while the haughty owner of the establishment looks on and — gods he’d rather be in the octagon facing off ‘Kikimora’ Morris right now. 

Instead Geralt accepts the FaceTime call and Ciri’s visage comes into view with his own in a tiny window on the right of the screen. Gods she’s growing up fast. Puppyfat cheeks giving way to prominent cheekbones. Long flaxen hair all mussed up from sleep and her face a little pink from being buried in the 50 odd pillows and scatter cushions Yennefer insists she keeps on her bed. the lighting behind her is a deep gold. A few lamps switched on that give a little light, making it hard to see Around behind his daughter. But it’s then as Ciri shifts to a more comfortable position on what he assumes is her bed, Geralt sees it. A giant unicorn in the corner. Ciri’s in Yennefer’s bedroom. 

He wrinkles his face at it. “You in your mom’s bedroom...” he says it quietly and matter-of-fact.   
“Yeah..... her bed is much nicer then mine and she’s not here. She’s doing the ‘Auretuza Wellness event this weekend.’ So I have the place to myself.” His Lion Cub replies back, just as matter-of-fact and flicking her hair.

Geralt huffs. He doesn’t like this his daughter is on her own for that long amount of time but there’s nothing he can do and she is a capable young head-strong girl. Sometimes too much according to past tutors.   
“So Dad... you woke me up. Can’t be just because you missed me. What’s up?” 

He eyes the man infront who is still patiently waiting, arms crossed. Then back to Ciri. The internationally acclaimed champion fighter feels dumb asking his teenage daughter for help but here goes.

“I’m in France...... been to the chateau.... found an old instrument that I think He’d like. It needs fixing.” As soon as the stuttered words are ground out there’s a “aaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwww THATS SO SWEEEET! DAD!!” From his phone that maxes out Geralt’s tiny iPhone speakers. He can feel the tips of his ears and his cheeks growing hot.

“So.... you need me to talk to whomever it is to get it done I’m guessing?” Comes the haughty important tone from his daughter who has shuffled closer into view with an eager smile.   
“Please.” He says cocking an eyebrow at the antiques specialist. Sure as hell that the poor man has no idea on what he’s about to be signed up to by talking to Cirilla. “Okay Dad pass me over.” And he does.

It’s Just over an hour and 2 parking tickets later that the instrument has been safely loaded into the warehouse at the back of the emporium and Geralt has learned a few things. It’s not a piano for one. “Dad that’s a harpsichord duuuh.” And secondly he thinks Yen is rubbing off a lot more on his little Lion Cub more then Geralt had first thought. Spending the summer with him and Jaskier would put paid to that. The champion bids his princess goodnight and for a job welldone on helping him. 

Geralt feels sorry for the poor man who had to deal with Ciri’s questions and demands. Well only a little..... no way could the foreigners ‘get taken for a ride’ now. The restoration would be done off-site with the finest craftsman and still at a huge expense but it would all be worth it to see his Larks face in the end.   
Speaking of faces......

After a further 4 hours at the chateau laying down the law and then travel  
to Paris-Charles De Gaulle Airport does Geralt cross paths with Jaskier well. Sort of.

Looking out from the exclusive VIP lounge onto the main concourse Geralt can see the visage of his DJ - 12ft high on a interactive billboard. A shimmer of petal  
Pink and deep Red dust clouds. There’s a sound byte of his latest collab with Gaga a catchy hook that people are calling the lastest ear-worm and there they are in moody greyscale. His Nymph in a white slinky dress that highlights his masculine shape. Lady Gaga herself in tailored coattails and white billowy shirt with loose cuffs. Both it matching black killer-kitten eyeliner and swishing and gyrating to the music. Next clip is her applying the deep red to his lips. Gaga already wearing the iconic shade (the only pop of colour on the campaign.) a close up of red-smeared lips - hers, his - singing along to the lyrics. Then a side by side image of both Jaskier and Gaga facing down the viewer the tag line in french “Live fiercely, Love fiercely Little Monsters”. In smaller writing to the side it reads “Le Monster matte lip limited edition - Sweet Kiss”


	5. LOVE and music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt reunites with Jaskier in Croatia.

It’s while sitting at the lounge bar of Charles De Gaulle Airport that Geralt formulates a plan. He does not want to go back to Sonoma. 

The flight is a long-ass 11 hours, no one is there and for once in his life Geralt has got no obligations, or places to be. Now he just needs a little help from his manager. Especially since the champion fighter needs to be sure where his Nymph currently is. 

Geralt reclines back in the cool leather of the booth style seating he’s currently occupying. Carryon luggage heaped next to him, aspirational yet dull magazines fanned our on the black low coffee table, broadsheets he has no interest in reading folded neatly and iron-straight. A passing waiter stiffly walks by, gesturing with a shining silver coffee pot. “Monsieur?” Geralt grunts a little and nods a barely heard “Oui” as he pulls out the smartphone from his pocket. Geralt had time before heading to Paris to change for travel. Super-soft black sweatpants, Black cotton T-shirt and a midnight blue cargo jacket all by Vetements. The back of the jacket has been customised with the ‘School of the Wolf’ logo, hand painted and sealed in charcoal grey and white.- a present from the fashion house after his big win. It’s a nice gesture and one that Geralt still finds hard to wrap his head around. The receiving of gifts. He’s always fought hard for what he has and usually with little to no recognition. Now it comes freely with accolades and still makes him queasy to his stomach to receive. 

Geralt sweeps his loose white hair out of his eyes and leans forward to take the bone China cup now brimming with steaming black coffee (his 5th today - Jaskier would frown at him if he was here.) and takes a large sip as the waiter nods and moves on. Geralt swipes through the contacts on his phone and dials. 

“Geralt. I take it all is well in France now. I hope you found my man at the airport?”  
Comes the calm female voice at the end of the line. Alizee, being the capable woman she is had set up a private jet for Geralt to get back to the US. an associate had met him at the entrance to the airport to take the Bugatti and hand him his boarding pass and exclusive lounge keycard. The super-mogul truly was a marvel. He just needed a teeny-tiny favour.

“Alizee..... Is Jaskier is in Germany?” He asks while watching passers by. No one watches him or pays attention to him. It’s blessedly refreshing. “No.... why l'enfant terrible has finished his Europe leg of his press-tour and is, if memory serves me correctly - and it always does - is headlining at AWAKE Festival in Pag, Croatia.” There’s a pause. Alizee is waiting and by now she’s probably guessed what the Champion fighter is going to say. Well ask. He takes a deep breath knowing full well he’s about to be a pain in the arse but fuck it. It’s not like Geralt asks for much in this life. “I need to change my flight....... to Croatia..” “I thought you’d say something like that” comes the smooth reply, a put-upon huff on the other end of the line and then. “Well..... leave it with me Geralt. I can’t have the UFC heavyweight champion of the world pining away in a forest alone now can I?” It’s rhetorical with a teasing edge. He can almost hear his usually stoic ice queen of a manager crack a smile on the other end of the line. Geralt hums in agreement. “Thankyou Alizee.” And before he hangs up she calls out again. “Oh and Geralt, I think he’s missing you too.” 

4 hours flight time, 1 stop in the town of Split and a catamaran over to the island of Pag, Geralt found himself in Novalja marina amongst the superyachts and sail boats with a familiar face on the other end of one of the jetties. The fighter shoulders his holdall and pulls his luggage down the small gangway. The sun is bright and air crisp with the salty tang of the Adriatic Sea - itself a brilliant vivid blue and despite the time of year it’s still hot and Geralt can instantly feel the prickling of sweat at the back of his neck. He should have tied his hair back. It’s getting long, even by his standards. He goes through the security checks and the tolling booth and comes to a stop infront of his patiently waiting companion. “Hi Geralt, how are you doing?” 

The champion smiles at Priscilla. Jaskier’s PA is stood next to a too suss looking security guard in all black and shades. Security detail always stick out like a sore thumb for their stature and clothing. This person is no different. Stacked but not to Geralt’s proportions. Priscilla is in corporate mode with a clubkid edge. Her trademark golden rupunzel-long hair up in what Ciri calls “space-buns”, black bow choker, cherry red glossy lips, black round frame Quay sunglasses. black lululemon tie-top, faded grey distressed ripped FRAME jeans and Patrick Cox wedge platform sandals. The piece de resistance of the PA’s ensemble is her flowing Camilla kimono. A riot of colour and clashing prints. It must be a ‘music thing’ Geralt muses as he leans forward to give the petite woman a one-armed hug and peck on a highlighted cheek. “I’m good P, how are you? And how’s Jaskier doing?” 

“Well it’s the last day so hah, ya know....” and she gesticulates with hands in the air. He’s sure that means good chaos. As is like most large events behind the scenes.  
She carries on talking while handing Geralt’s luggage off to the security guard and then walking ahead to a waiting Bentley. The security guard takes the luggage off down towards a private gangway - where Geralt can see a number of yachts of various size and grandiosity. He chews his cheek then follows the PA to the Bentley. 

“So currently I’ve got Valdo Marxxx kicking off backstage about his billing HAH! Can you believe the nerve of that man? I mean no way does he deserve co-top billing with Jaskier! He’s been talking smack about Jaskier for years to anyone that’ll listen, in the press, blogs, podcasts, YouTube! And now Valdo thinks he’s good enough that he should be sharing the prime slot? Oh don’t think so.” She says hotly as they slide into the luxury ride and peel away from the curb onto the bustling streets of Novalja 

“Hmmm......... and what does Jaskier think?” Geralt asks know just how feral his Lark’s temper can get especially when it comes to the aforementioned rival DJ. The little creep has been spreading shit about His lark and even Geralt, himself in recent years. That’s where Jaskier thinks the ‘Geralt is gay for pay’ rumour sprang from and too be honest The champion wouldn’t put it past the vindictive Marxxx to start such a viscous lie. 

“Well actually.......” Priscilla pauses for dramatic effect, running a pink tongue over her teeth eyes Geralt with a wicked grin. “He thinks it’s hilarious.” 

And that fact makes Geralt huff a laugh. Imagining that the fact his superstar DJ lover won’t bite to his inferior counterpart. If anything That’ll piss Marxxx off more. Priscilla laughs til tears prick the corners of her blue eyes. And Geralt has to ask because he’s nothing if not a smart man 

“He doesn’t know I’m here does He?”

The PA bites her lip and shakes her head. “Nope, Alizee thought it best that Jaskier keeps focused on his work. It’ll be a nice surprise for him.” She offers a smile as he nods in understanding. “Hmmmm..... I understand. I have another question.”  
“Uh huh - shoot.” Priscilla says as she pulls out her tablet and taps away. “I’m listening ...... just gotta get back to a few people.” 

“ where have my things gone off to with the rent-a-guard”? Geralt asks, genuinely puzzled. 

The PA continues to tap away noisily as she speaks. “Ah well Pag island is all booked up, hostels, hotels BnB’s Airbnb’s, villas..... so Alizee has her latest Acquisition just resting out in the yacht club.” “A yacht....”Geralt looks at her “I think you’d call it a super-yacht.” Priscilla corrects nonchalantly “Hmmmm...” the Champion replies. He’ll have to call Alizee later as a Thankyou. 

The rest of the ride is blessedly quiet. As they pull out of town to Zrce Beach. Clubs, super clubs and beach bars, palm trees dot along the stunning pebble beach.  
There are 4 enormous super clubs Kalypso, Papaya, Aquarius and Noa that all are participating in the AWAKE 3-day festival. All full of beautiful people, tiki-hut bars, swimming pools, dance floors, cabanas and day beds. The throng of revellers in day glow paint and swim gear dancing to the different sets currently simultaneously going on is more then a little bit of a sensory overload. Especially of a certain man whose senses are heightened due to his mutagenics. Geralt sets his jaw and remembers why he’s here. For his Nymph. 

“So where is Jaskier’s set?” He asks plainly. “Oh he’s at Noa beach club. That’s the one everyone wants.” Priscilla says/shouts above the din of music as they get out of their ride. And looking at the venue Geralt sees why. 

Noa takes up a large stretch of real estate on Zrce beach. There’s the Noa resort where the hip insta-set stay in what looks like stylish wooden cube villas with private jacuzzi’s and astro turf patios. A muscle gym out on the beach, ‘the Deep’ bayside bar, a street load of food courts. The main entrance to the club stretches out into the crystal clear Adriatic Sea. 

For all intents and purposes Noa club is a Pier but one with the 24/hr party people in mind. A playground for the hedonistic jetset. Multi-level Cocktail bars, day glow fake and real palm trees, foam party areas, paddle pools, water fountains, tattoo shop, snack stations, secluded cabana beds and loungers, net- hammock floors littered with sun-worshippers while the cool turquoise water glitters below. There’s even a jetski station and pool ladders into the sea. All this and there is still the main dance arena and coveted main stage at the centre of it all surrounded by balconies with a private VIP area and ‘after party’ bar at the very end. 

The sun is beginning to dip out on the horizon, giving everything a saturated glow. Priscilla walks ahead to the smiling woman in official black work gear (black crop-T-shirt and jean shorts emblazoned with the hot pink club logo. “Mr Rivia..... welcome.” The young woman says smiling wide “here is your access-all-areas wristband and your VIP wristband complete with money smart-chip, we’ve taken the liberty of making it unlimited for you. Everything is ‘on the house’ for the entirety of your time here.” The pretty blonde continues to smile as she puts the wristbands on the champion. A little too much for Geralt’s liking. Certainly she’s keen. “He mumbles a “Thankyou.” slips his gucci shades on and follows Priscilla through the crowds of party-goers Just past the main desk. 

As both Geralt and Priscilla wind their way through the venue a few people stop what they are doing and stare. A group of girls in cut-out bikinis taking selfies on the hammocks stop and giggle, gasp and whisper. Bro-dudes in board shorts and knockoff wayfarers meet Geralt’s shaded golden gaze and give him ‘the nod’ a few whoop and flex their biceps in his direction. It’s hot and the sea breeze only only does so much for all amount of bodies in one place. Geralt is glad he had the presence of mind to change his clothes when he was on the plane over to Pag. 

Geralt is not a shy man, nor one to overly flaunt his honed and sculpted body but the champion can tell maybe his outfit choice may have something to do with a fair few appreciative eyes following him in the club. A Versace button-down black linen short sleeve shirt. Geralt decided to leave it open, revealing his medallion and lightly furred skin glistening with sun oil. He also sported his favourite CK black short-shorts and Havianas sandals in muted blue and black. 

Priscilla leads Geralt through crowds of people. Up onto one of the many balconies to the far edge of the main stage. And are let back stage by security with a flash of their wristbands. 

Currently holding music of thumping bass and remixed trance hits plays as the packed crowd bays and sings. The arena is packed. Backstage has less sweating revellers but by means is no less busy. Sound technicians running back and forth onstage with various pieces of Jaskier’s kit. A looper, his personal set of decks, sound board, speakers, 2 sets of mics at different heights and his Nymph’s most prized possession. an 16th century lute in its velvet lined flight case. Geralt looks to the far end and he can see a row of seats with a gaggle of people from teens to late 30’s talking excitedly amongst themselves. All wearing Jaskier merch. Priscilla leans up into his ear “official fanclub golden ticket winners....... he’s got to do a meet and greet after.” “Hmm..... is all Geralt can think to say, rather selfishly peeved that he cannot just have his lover all to himself after his headline set. They go to the backstage bar. 

The double grey goose and tonic goes down strong and smooth on the first sip and Geralt hums appreciatively and looks up from his vantage point at the stage as the crowd cheers and screams louder. The background screen blinks to life with a fluorescent blue digital clock countdown and one of Jaskier’s early instrumental tracks play. 10 ... 9 ... 8 ... 7 ... 6 ... 5 ...   
“Ready.... ?” Priscilla beams at Geralt jangling her glass of strawberry daiquiri and they take their place just to the side of the stage. The crowd continues to count down 4... 3 .... 2......1! There’s a shower of glitter cannons and the screen changes to display his Lark’s logo then out comes the man of the hour himself.

Jaskier looks in his element, like he lives and breathes his art and all the attention from the swarming crowd screaming and chanting his name. The DJ kisses the cheeks and shakes the hands of his lucky fanclub winners and takes to the decks, beaming at them.

“Ready for an adventure with me darlings....?”he plays to the the audience with a lopsided grin. This earns more cheers as he begins a well known track that starts to build and thrum with bass.   
“Then take my hands.” Jaskier holds his hands aloft, silver ringed fingers out stretched to the heavens as the beats climb and then he drops the bass and the crowd goes wild. 

The corners of Geralt’s mouth lift in a small smile as he watches the younger man at work, well it’s more like play really. Jaskier is truly Nymph-like like this. the creative way he mixes music - old school 90’s homages to the shimmery synths and hard beats he’s known for while singing live pieces then looping that back. Geralt’s chest swells with quiet pride. 

His Nymph looks good too. Pale blue thin shirt unbuttoned low to show the twin thin silver chains he loves to wear, Gucci linen suit in psychedelic paisley print of cream and vibrant blue shades. Even his footwear is the same print as his suit but are custom gucci pool slides. Jaskier has had a hair cut recently because the fade at the back is impeccable and his heavy fringe swept with gel product. There’s a touch of iridescent glitter to his cheekbones and a silver fenty ear cuff as an extra bit of bling. All in all Jaskier looks at once mischievous and regal. 

Jaskier’s set lasts a full two hours with the audience ‘eating out the palm of his hand’ the entire time. The DJ saucily plays with the crowd. Even going to far to place his foot up onto the one of the floor lights and cock his hips to them during the more lewd and thirstier tracks. For his finale Jaskier carefully takes his lute out of its case and holds it up by the neck to show the audience. “Do you know what this is?” Jaskier asks them over a muted percussion loop. A partygoer yells back “GUITAR!” Jaskier brings the instrument back down and looks shocked... almost pained by the words, a hand on his chest and his mouth a perfect O. As if recovered Jaskier shoulders his instrument lines his two mics up and points an accusatory finger out to the sea of people. “Oh you ..... need a nap! Haha oooooooh. No no no THIS is a lute....... you heathens.” He winks to them and smiles. He reaches out to his sound board. Flips toggles and switches and a beautiful  
Melodic song rings out over the sound system. Jaskier plays the lute live and sings for them all, eyes closed and lost to the music. it could almost be a tale, one of monsters, unrequited love, the meanest of sweet kisses and risking it all. His vocals soaring above the punchy notes and summery synth. The audience sings along and fireworks pop overhead painting the rapidly darkening sky with flashes of neon. Jaskier hands the lute to a waiting stage hand and takes a bow, telling the the audience he loves them and thanking them for coming to the festival. 

Geralt watches from afar as his nymph bounds off to his waiting fanbase. Watches as Jaskier talks to each and everyone one of them as if they are the only important thing in the world. He signs autographs, poses for selfies and hands out nearby giftbags. Once their time is up Jaskier heads towards the backstage bar where surrounding organisers, patrons and VIP’s wait to congratulate him. Geralt’s fingers twitch on his second drink, shades long forgotten, pushed up into his white hair. It’s then The younger man spots him and he makes a beeline through the group for Geralt as Priscilla grins into her daiquiri. 

“Geralt! You’re here.” Jaskier breathes the happiness and shock written clearly on his face. Blue eyes shining bright. “Hey Nymph...” Geralt says. Up close he can see a light sheen of sweat on the younger man’s skin that’s made the dark locks of hair at the DJ’s temples curl. Lips naturally tinged a pale pink begging to be kissed. So Geralt does and his Nymph meets him halfway. 

The men trade a few partially open-mouthed kisses just enjoying the closeness of one another, fully aware of their surroundings. Still Geralt can’t help but put a large warm hand on his Lark’s shoulder and it hasn’t escaped his notice that Jask’s got a hand on his bare hip - hidden from sight by Geralt’s open shirt. 

An errant thumb sweeps circles over Geralt’s warm skin and they both share a secret smile, Before hands are gone and shots are ordered by the smirking DJ.

There’s a further 2 rounds of patron and the organisers bring a couple bottles of celebratory Krug - as cold as ice and replete with sparklers carried by models who clap and cheer. Jaskier shares out the alcohol with those around them. It’s all rather over the top but Geralt watches the way Jaskier laps the attention up, delighted but gracious. At this point Priscilla leaves them with kisses to both men’s cheeks wishing them goodnight to no doubt party the night away out on one of the many dance floors. Her job done for the night. Jaskier looks out at the crowds below before turning back and eyeing Geralt, biting his bottom lip. The champion knows that his little Lark would know better then to ask him out on the dance floor. Geralt doesn’t dance, it’s just not his thing...... but that’s not to say he wouldn’t if his Lark asked him nicely when they are alone......In the dark. “Time to go?” Geralt asks - it comes out a barely audible rumble in the back of his throat.

“I was waiting for you ask.” Jaskier says just as quietly, his nymph takes him gently by the hand, a quick peck to the older man’s lips and the DJ is leading him out to the private bar that also... as it turns out, serves as a dock for those with boats and deep wallets and a willingness to party. 

Stationed out on the calm darkened waters is what looks to be a super yacht.  
“Ah....... Alizee.....” Geralt says, plainly startling the obvious. “Of coarse.” Is his lover’s reply with a chuckle as they board the gleaming silver monochromatic 3 - tier beauty. Geralt will have to send his manager a fruit basket as well as call her to say Thankyou.


	6. LOVE and reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the boat’s a rockin  
> This is pretty much porn. Don’t come at me.

Both men are greeted by the staff onboard (captain, in-house chef and butler) and the sleek boat sets sail  
Away from Zrce beach and out onto the inky Adriatic Sea. The wait-staff go about their buisness and leave Geralt and Jaskier out on the back deck alone. There is a lounge bed, plunge pool, jacuzzi, loungers, mini bar, and seating area all within reach on the back deck. black and white with glittering chrome finishes and pale floor lighting. 

It’s while the stars glitter overhead that they reach for eachother. Kissing fevourently with open mouths and the lashing of tongues. Geralt groans into his Nymph’s mouth as nimble-quick fingers make light work of his shirt, shorts and briefs. The champion doesn’t stay passive either. He sheds the layers of Jaskier’s meticulously curated outfit revealing tanned lithe skin and soft body hair. Clothes scattered on the teak deck around them and there is a light breeze of sea air but right now what Geralt wants, no NEEDS is his Lark. And judging from Jaskier’s heaving breaths, Blue eyes heavy-lidded with lust and impressive erection jutting out from his hips, Geralt would say he wants him too. The champion crooks his fingers and growls a low “come here.” Jaskier moves closer to him. The action grinds Jaskier’s hot dick up against Geralt’s large heavy cock and the friction makes the champion hiss and roll his hips sharply against the younger man. His Nymph groans and rakes short nails over Geralt’s large well-muscled back and scarred shoulders to rest either side of the champion’s neck and hold on. 

Geralt large palms rest over slight hips, thumbs dipping into the creases where long legs meet groin and they move against eachother. Gods he’s missed this. Missed the feeling of holding his Nymph so close. All that warm firm skin and his scent. Jaskier smells of sweat, salt-sea air, faintly of vertiver cologne and his own warm comforting musk. Geralt buries his head in the crook of the DJ’s neck where his scent is strongest and noses up along Jaskier’s pulse point nipping and licking at the reddened skin. There’s a guttural moan from the younger man and he loves to lick and lave at Geralt’s hardened nipples that has Geralt purring and cradling the back of his nymphs head as they rock their hips together, sliding rock hard erections against one another. 

Precome from both men slicks any unwanted rubbing on delicate skin instead aiding delicious friction. There’s a wicked tongue lashing at the tight nub of his right nipple and a nibble of teeth. Geralt lets out a hiss as the sensation goes straight to his rock hard cock. Jaskier makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat and moves onto an equally meaty left pec. The DJ flattens his tongue against lightly furred skin and flicks the hard dusky pink nipple, giving a whole new meaning to the term ‘tongue-lashing’. 

The champion purrs and brings large hands down...... one to hold the naughty songbird’s hips steady, the other to wrap around their hard, slick pricks. The effect is instantaneous as that large callused palm moves up and down.... torturously slow. His Nymph shudders and keens. Bites at Geralt’s collarbone and whispers into the shell of his ear. 

“I need you.” It’s a breathy admission that that brings colour to Geralt’s high cheekbones and the tempo of his hand picks up the pace to slide and flick over their erections - he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat in his prick - strong and thundering under throbbing flushed skin. 

Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed for a minute and those talented hands of his skate down from Geralt’s nape, down his back and to grapple and squeeze at the thick globes of his arse.

Geralt goes in for a kiss. Just a little taste of his nymph as he thumbs over their leaking cockheads which has Jaskier panting, mouth open and looking so pretty just for him. Geralt licks along that plump bottom lip before delving into his songbirds mouth with a barely contained growl. He can taste the remnants of tequila on Jaskier’s tongue and feels a huff of a laugh trapped between their duelling mouths. 

They need to move this along or Geralt will have Jaskier right here stretched out on the deck without a flying fuck if one of the cabin crew sees them. He slows his hand to rest at the base of both their cocks, which has his Nymph breaking their urgent make out session with a pout and whining a “don’t stop....” a tries to push his hips forward for more friction. “Jaskier....... where’s the master suite?” He grinds out, while holding the younger man’s hips still with one hand.

This makes his nymph breakout in a lopsided grin and pull away from their embrace. His cock bobbing free from Geralt’s grip. flushed a deep pink and glistening, a thin strand of precome still connecting the two men intimately to one another. The sight makes the champion growl in the back of his throat. Jaskier makes a small “whoops.” Noise as his pumps his own cock a few times, breaking the connection then holds out his other hand. “Come Dear Heart follow me.”

The DJ leads Geralt down a grandiose double staircase below deck, through a long corridor past several rooms all glass, mood lighting and monochrome finish, to the stern end and through large lacquer black double doors. THANKFULLY they had not come across another soul while en route. That would have made quite the sight and possibly something new for Page 6.

Jaskier ushers him in and locked the door. No sooner has his lover flicked on the mood lighting Geralt went into action, grabbing his nymph who let out a surprised yell - one that Jaskier would later say was manly but if you asked Geralt himself, it was decidedly not - and with little effort threw jaskier down on the ridiculously opulent bed (who has a black leather headboard the size of a whole wall?) 

Jaskier for his efforts scooted back up against the mountain of pillows, propping his weight on one arm. Looking up at the older man under his dark lashes, spreading those long legs. Geralt hums and crouches low at the edge of the bed - the DJ wanted to put up a show for him, Geralt wasn’t going to argue with that. 

Jaskier skimmed a slender hand down over his own darkly furred chest, tweaking a nipple as he went, down over the thick joy trail that covered his abdomen and down to the long, deep pink prick jutting out proudly from that soft thatch of pubic hair. Jaskier nestles back against the stack of pillows - the arm that had been holding him up - now put to better use with fingers toying at the silver chains glinting in the darkened lighting from a nest of chest hair. He bent his legs at the knee - giving Geralt a better more INTIMATE view of his Nymph.

The bastard slowly licks his lips and smiles lazily and those long fingers skimming his manhood shift, pulling foreskin from the shining pink crown of his dick tip. 

begging to be licked. 

His Nymph was being truly devilish but Geralt could play him at his own game.  
The champion leans low, thick thighs bent in a wide squat. baring himself to his lover reclined out on the bed. The corners of Geralt’s mouth lift minutely as he sucks in three fingertips and brings his hand down to his own large cock, pointing heavily between spread legs. “Look..... watch...” is all he mutters and Jaskier does, craning his neck to look down at the Fighter in his hunched position at the end of the bed. Geralt pulls back his foreskin to expose the dusky red leaking cockhead and runs a blunt thumbnail over the slit. The biting pleasure is all Geralt’s but the moan is from Jaskier who is now working his own erection in long firm strokes. “You like?” Geralt quirks a brow and gestures with a nod of his head to Jaskier pleasuring himself. His Nymph smiles wickedly. “I’d like you IN me. And preferably before I finish.” The DJ makes a point of flicking his wrist over the tip of his dick and making an exaggerated moan, stretching a wriggling his arse against the sheets. Point made. 

Geralt nods, humming in the back of his throat. The barest hint of a smile before reaching out and grabbing both of the DJ’s slender ankles and yanking him bodily down the bed towards him. The yelp of surprise is quickly muted as Geralt climbs up on the edge of the bed, slides hands from ankles up the backs of lightly furred shins to the back of knees and bending Jaskier up... up almost in half. 

Geralt has his Nymph’s knees almost touching his shoulders. It’s a good thing Jaskier is fond of Yoga. The pose is deep and has Jaskier bared to Geralt’s lust-addled hungry gaze. The delicate pink furl of skin twitches when the champion puffs out a breath over it. Oh that movement makes Jaskier’s balls tighten and dick twitch where it’s trapped up against his belly. It’s then Geralt hears the frustrated sigh below him and the strained “fucking jujitsu move cheat... s-sstop teas.......”. Before the rest of that haughty sentence can leave his Nymph’s lips Geralt drops his head between Jaskier’s spread arse cheeks and noses the little picker of skin once in warning then licks a hard warm wet stripe from the top of His Larks arse crack to the seam of his balls causing his Lark to sing out a wail 2 octaves high. Oh yes... Geralt thinks he WILL make him sing.

The champion licks, licks and licks insistently at his Nymphs hole making the DJ underneath him shake and gasp. Occasionally stopping to nip at the skin of Jaskier’s balls, mouth at the length of cock that Geralt can comfortably reach and lean over to look at the wreck of a man beneath him. Gods ..... Jaskier looks gorgeous like this. He’s been wriggling and thrashing and bucking against Geralt’s oral onslaught and working himself into a state, belly and furred chest sticky with precome, cock trapped and rock hard, his face flushed scarlet and eyes shining, lips bitten slick and red, sweat sticking dark locks to his brow. The sight is making Geralt’s cock ache. “Please....please Geralt don’t stop.... I need it, darling please....fuck yes.... please. Oooooh.” And Geralt obliges, swirling his tongue round the spit-slick pink pucker of Jaskier’s arse, points his tongue and pushes in. “aaaaAaaah.... wicked mouth.... wicked..wicked....” Jaskier keens.

Geralt knows his Lark is a vocal songbird, more so in bed..... or wherever they end up. He remembers fondly one night out on a balcony of a hotel in Florence. Geralt had HAD to stuff his fingers in Jaskier’s mouth lest the people down in the streets below look up. THAT little alfresco adventure would have cost them one hell of a PR nightmare and both their nutsacks being ripped off and fed to them by one supremely irate and dangerously beautiful health and wellness maven.

The taste of his lover, although thick and musky doesn’t bother Geralt much and especially not when he’s eliciting such a response. Jaskier’s hands have slid up to join Geralt’s, behind the backs of his legs to keep himself wide open. Geralt shuffled closer to keep Jaskier’s weight pitched forward and slides his own hands up over the stretched globes of Jaskier’s arse. One hand rubbing at the tender skin as Geralt continues to prod his tongue in and out of Jaskier’s hot, tight channel. 

The Champion grinds his face against that delicate crease of skin. Continues to mimic with his tongue, exactly what he wants to do with his cock. Geralt breaths harshly through his nose and curls his tongue inside Jaskier, pulling back up through his quivering wet hole. “Geralt!” The poor furious sound of his lover. He looks over tight balls and strained cock to livid blue eyes. “Dear christ..., you’ll be the death of me..” his nymph croaks out between ragged breaths and is about to chastise Him a lot more (which in itself is a Hilarious thing to consider his position) when Geralt sits up, makes a show of licking the index and middle finger of his free hand and deftly sinks them both inside Jaskier’s arse, from tip to first knuckle. The effect is instantaneous on his lover.

A full-body shudder coarses through Jaskier and he greedily tries buck up into Geralt’s hand, eager and clenching round fingers buried inside him. Geralt clucks his tongue and watches, gently moving his fingers in and out. “Jask..... look at you.... so needy.” Geralt rumbles and leans down over his bent lover, through the younger mans spread legs to place a filthy open-mouthed kiss to the DJ’s own. 

There’s a clash of tongue and teeth and a strangled moan as Geralt starts to scissor his fingers inside Jaskier. The angle is hard on his wrist but the older man keeps it up and watches as Jaskier breaks the kiss to moan wantonly. “Feel good Nymph?” The champion growls as his nymph nods “oh yes..” “it will feel a lot better soon..... where’s the slick?” They’d been just going on Geralt’s saliva alone up til this point and well..... Geralt knows his Nymph is desperate for him. Fuck...... Geralt could hammer nails with the throbbing erection he’s sporting but he’s not a sadist. They need slick and plenty of it. All 11 inches of Geralt are not going to be taken easily.

Jaskier growls, thunking his head back against the sheets and let’s go of an aching leg to point blindly out to a pile of bags on the right of the darkened room. “Be patient, stay put and don’t touch.” Geralt gives his irked lover a quick parting peck on kiss bruised lips and removes is fingers from the tight grip of Jaskier’s body. He pretends not to hear the whimper from the bed as he goes rifling through the baggage at the other end of the room. “Hmm.... a little help Jaskier?”  
“The small hold-all, second compartment.... toiletries bag. Hurry up!” The DJ whines. And Geralt grins when he finds it. The familiar large pump  
Bottle of Liquid Silk Lube in his hand like a hard-won prize. The champion goes back to the bed, trying not to smile and the lewd image of his lover.... just as he left him. Laid bare and eager for Geralt only. The Champion is quietly surprised that Jaskier had stayed put and kept his hands to himself. 

Regardless his lark goes back to wiggling needily as soon as Geralt regains his position on the bed. Geralt gives his cock cock a few long slow strokes to take the edge off while he dispenses a few hefty pumps of lube onto Jaskier’s hole making the ring of muscle twitch as he pushes two fingers back in swiftly then adds a third and rhythmically moves his hand. Jaskier grunts and takes what’s is given then all but Bucks and stutters as Geralt goes to add a fourth finger. “No no... I’m good please Geralt I’m  
Ready please just fuck me.” It comes out in a rush of words only slightly broken as he buck his hips up. Geralt raises a brow to look over his lovers flushed face. “You sure?” He asks “Yes!!! Yes you brute!” “Hmmm...” the champion stills his hand and doesn’t move for a moment. Then pulls his fingers free from Jaskier’s body and lubes up his cock. A few more pumps to his Nymphs arse and then Geralt crowds up over him, strong thick arms bracketing either side of his songbirds face. He goes up  
Onto his toes and uses his own considerable weight to sink the thick head of his cock into Jaskier’s hot channel and continues to sink inches of his length into the younger man. 

Jaskier cranes his head up to kiss Geralt and hisses a sweet “oooohhh yess Mmmmm dear heart...” as Geralt bottoms out, filling him up. “You feel good...ugh... real good.” Geralt grinds out against his nymphs lips. He’s not very good at dirty talk... or talking in general, and the way the DJ has his cock in a ‘vice-grip’ is robbing Geralt of the limited vocabulary he uses. “You good?” He asks, waiting for his nymph to adjust to him, but so desperately wanting to move. Jaskier just nods.

And move the Champion does. Drawing nearly all the way out of his lover before slamming back in. It’s a punishing pace and Geralt’s on a quest. He wants to put all his need, want and longing for Jaskier into him. Wants to take the DJ apart and put him back together. and when his Nymph hooks long legs over his large sweat-slicked shoulders, the angle of them both deepens and Geralt tilts his hips on the down-stroke. He’s searching....

Jaskier throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut and cries high. “There’s it is......ugh..... gonna make you sing” Geralt growls like he’s been punched in the gut and keeps the frantic pace, hitting that sweet nub hidden inside his lover on each stroke. Jaskier hisses through clenched teeth and meets him thrust for thrust. bling-ringed fingers scrabbling at Geralt’s strained biceps for purchase. Geralt looks down at him. At his Nymphs face, his steadily leaking dick trapped between them, the point where the men are joined.  
It’s almost too much. Jaskier is crying out beneath him pleading to touch his dick but Geralt denies him. “No! on my Cock. With me!” He practically roars and Jaskier wails at the injustice. He’s close. They are both so fucking close. 

It’s the roll and flex of his hips that has Jaskier keening, arching and coming hard up between them in thick spurts. In his passion Jaskier reaches out blindly, threads long fingers in Geralt’s silver hair and pulls. Hard. It’s as if his scalp has an invisible tether to Geralt’s cock. The champion manages two more hard deep thrusts as his vision whites and pulses and spills deep Inside his lover. 

A few long minutes pass as Geralt shrugs Jaskier’s feet off his shoulders and lean legs lower to bracket his ribs. The post orgasmic haze has both men love-drunk and traiding breath and slow easy kisses. Geralt is vaguely aware he’s purring in his Nymphs arms as clever fingers pet flyaway silver strands off his sweaty brow. Geralt lowers his knees down onto the bed and his softening length slips free from the snug heat of Jaskier’s body. 

“Oh.... I think you’ve ruined me.” Jaskier half laughs or tries to as Geralt cards a hand through his sweat-soaked darkened fringe and Jaskier sighs with closed eyed happiness, his hands move is slow long scratches against Geralt’s strongly muscled back. “Mmmm...... not a bad thing......”The champion mutters rather smugly and snuggles closer. This earns him a half-hearted swat on a shoulder and muffled “brute” puffed into the crook of his neck. 

Before Geralt falls asleep on top and squishing his lover, they re-arrange themselves in the wrecked bed. A corner of the comforter swipes away most of Jaskier’s drying spend from both their chests and between his cheeks. His Nymph sleepily huffing about chest hair and smelling and feeling like a ‘tarts boudoir’ but relents with a big yawn to lie next to Geralt who pulls him close. A little known fact about the famed ‘Butcher of Blaviken’ is that he’s quite the cuddler come post-coitus. Yennefer hated that. She proffered to go clean up straight away whereas Jaskier basks in it. 

Before Geralt slips into the arms of Morpheus he feels soft lips against his own and rumpled covers pulled up over him. Out through the enormous panoramic windows the horizon glitters gold as he closes his eyes.


	7. LOVE and feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier spend time at sea.

It’s the gentle rap at the bedroom door that pulls Geralt back to consciousness. The insistently sharp ratta-tap-tap and a muffled female voice coming through from the other side of the door with a “Hello....*knock*knock*knock*knock* Mr Pankratz *knock*knock*knock*knock*knock* Mr Rivia ..... it’s the housekeeping staff.” 

Geralt groans a barely audible “fuuuck.” into the pile of pillows while ‘Mr Pankratz’ snuffles and startles bolt awake sitting up with a croaky “Yes? Yes Thankyou ... just a sec!”. Geralt rolls lazily to his side to view his lover in the half-light cast from the blinds set at ‘half-mast’ (nautical term) as the rather world famous DJ crashes around and scurries about the bed. It’s dawned on the fighter what’s bought about this sudden frenzied burst of crazed energy..... and hes rather selfishly decided not to help. 

Instead Geralt leans up on one meaty arm to watch he’s beloved bend down over the bed, giving him a view of that lovely backside he’s so well acquainted with. There’s some choice colourful curses muttered from Jask who’s scrabbling about having practically inverted himself upside down to reach over the edge of the opulent bed. More insistent knocking at the bedroom door follows just as Geralt is about to take a thumb to touch the reddened intimate skin bared to him of his Nymphs arse. In a flash just before Geralt can touch his target and rather wolfishly take a peak at the good work he wrought upon his lover the night previous, when Jaskier rights himself and holds his prize aloft.....The large mostly empty bottle of lube. 

Jaskier looks triumphant then quickly stuffs the rather depleted bottle underneath Geralt’s pillow. The DJ leans into whisper in his ear a quick “thats for not helping me.... and trying to look up my bum.” And giving a chastising wallop (that had hardly any power behind it) with the back of his palm to the Fighter’s thick bicep. Jask settles and sits back against the squishy pillow mountain and opulent leather headboard, ruffles the the sheets and bedspread with a flourish to decently cover them both and sing-songs out to the housekeepers still insistently rapping away at the door as if that makes proceedings go any faster. “Yes we are ready. Thankyou” 

Half of that was close to Geralt’s ear and it makes him grimace and humph a bit but he hides the discomfort and watches keenly as 2 women and 1 man enter the enormous room - all wearing powder blue polo shirts and and white trousers. They nod and say a cheery good morning dispute the urgent wake up call and go about their buisness of one way or another making the suite ‘ship-shape’ .... while the occupants are still in the room. He grunts a barely audible “morning” while Jaskier has now slid into the role of bright and early ‘sunbeam’ and smiles cheerily. “Oh Good morning. Sorry to have kept you waiting .... I love the uniforms. Very.... yacht-chic. Yes sorry about the bags. Oh please be a dear and be gentle with those blinds. 

Regardless both women are setting the blinds up with quick practiced efficiency to reveal the last vestiges of pale sunrise and stunning azure waters of the Adriatic Sea. Not another boat or human/island in sight. Geralt lets out a breath. The male staff member rights their bags and then brings in two neat piles of fresh soft-looking white towels and stashes them away in the bathroom. 

The ladies quickly spray down and wipe the deck furniture out on the balcony and give the surfaces inside a quick once over. More toiletries are quickly added to the bathroom. All three then come to the foot of the bed and for a second Geralt wonders if they are about to get both him and his lover dressed for the day (like Marie Antoinette) one of the woman - immaculate dark bobbed hair - steps forward and announces that there will be a selection of breakfast foods laid out on level 1 deck terrace with light refreshments and the chef is on standby should there be anything specific they are craving. Geralt thinks that the only particular craving he has currently is to take a peak at Jaskier’s bottom. Thankfully he keeps that reply dead on his tongue while Jaskier politely chirps a Thankyou with a winning smile. 

As soon as the staff members leave Jaskier hops up out of bed and gives a full body stretch up to the ceiling, a few bones audibly pop and crack. Geralt can’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The Nymph looks the picture of debauchery with his hair sticking this way and that. Warm skin pinked and a few bruises here and there. He scratches his sides and runs a hand over his finely haired belly and grimaces when his fingers snag over few dry patches.   
“Oh.... oh thats a bit telling. Do you think they saw?” Jaskier asks with a level of innocence Geralt didn’t think possibly.... especially for someone with dry spend stuck in their body hair. Geralt rises out of bed to grab his Lark’s by the hip. “Fuck it. The whole damn world knows.” It comes out gruff but there’s sentiment to his words. Their men are shy in being in a relationship. So what if the onboard staff knows that they were shagging each other’s brains out last night? “Very true.” Jaskier admits with a crooked grin and ringed fingers skate up the side of Geralt’s neck. The fighter mirrors the move with his big warm hand against the DJ’s neck and they share a warm quick affirming kiss (morning breath and all).

The morning is spent with both men taking advantage of the amenities of the master bathroom. Unlike the uniformly monochromatic look of the rest of the superyacht, the bathroom is all muted warm tones and highly polished sandstone. The tub is one of those freestanding deep egg-shaped things that Geralt never understands how to get of gracefully without slipping. The separate shower is practically a room in itself. There’s a floor to ceiling mirror with twin-sinks too. Alizee only has the best. Geralt fills the tub while Jaskier checks his visage in the mirror, turning this way and that with a barely hidden look of satisfaction. It’s shameless really. The Nymph heads towards Geralt who is already reclining back with a sigh, his eyes losing closing. Geralt feels the water rise and tell-tale splashing of the DJ clambering in the other end of the bath-egg. There’s the distinctive smell of cedarwood and Vetiver. (Jaskier’s scent). Long lean furred legs sliding against his own and a contented lilting hum starting up. Geralt breathes in deep once more as sudsy-hands massage up his strong arms. They skim up forearms, biceps then to his shoulders. The attention has Geralt rumble a burr deep in his chest then Jaskier slides down to lie against him, chest to chest. The DJ’s nose just just shy of tucking under the fighter’s chin. Geralt brings a thick arm to rest over Jaskier’s back and there there stay for a time. Just enjoying the quiet, listening to eachother heartbeat. 

Just before fingertips and toes begin to prune the men actually do get round to washing - eachother mostly with intimate touches. Geralt DOES get to take a peek after all. They both towel eachother dry and dress fittingly for a day at sea.

Jaskier wore royal blue swim shorts emblazoned with tiny oriental golden dragons and white blossoms and a gauzy cotton shirt left open. A pair of gold rimmed geometric aviators sat on his head like a crown - all Gucci of coarse. 

Geralt simply wore a pair of black logo compression swim shorts that Jaskier had bought him as a present, the fighters favourite shades were in his pocket as he followed Jaskier out onto the 1st deck to find a few faces greeting them warmly. There was a personal chef, already laying out plates of food. Continental choices of pasties, cheeses, deli meats, yoghurt, honey, nuts and preserves. Jaskier ever ‘on’ and a pro greeted the staff warmly with a wide smile and a “good morning. Do excuse me.... us I hope you were not all kept waiting, look at this spread you have made for us. How Devine! Is that an omelette station you have there too?” The chef gave a small smile and nodded a polite “yes mr Pankratz, whatever you or mr Rivia would like, I can make it.” “Thankyou.” Geralt said quietly as Jaskier fussed and chatted happily like a duke at court while picking up a plate and picking at food items. Geralt himself had bought down one of Vesemir’s little vial of health tonics that Geralt had packed away in his carry-on. It was part of his morning routine afterall. The fighter uncapped, sniffed then knocked back the dark yellow liquid and grit his teeth at the taste. Musty with spice and heavy on his tongue, Geralt couldn’t quite guess everything in the foul brew but turmeric, pine, pepper and honey were involved. The fighter discarded the little glass bottle and helped himself to water from the water station. (Still with lemon and cucumber or fizzy with rosemary.... what a choice.) he went with the fizz. Something strong to cleanse the palate. 

Geralt chose scrambled eggs, deli meats, an apple and black coffee while Jaskier took advantage of the omelette station - with spinach, swiss cheese, mushrooms and smoked salmon then plain yoghurt with nuts and honey and a macchiato with double cream. If Yen was here she would have made some haughty comment about the amount of fat or the richness of Jaskier’s food choices especially in contrast to Geralt’s more sparse, nutrition led ones. She usually did. Little digs that Jaskier would bite back at with sass. In his eyes the beauty guru was jealous that he could be so frivolous and still remain so lean. Jask once had told her her that it moisturised him from the inside out. That’s why he still looked in his 20’s. The memory of her reaction made the corners of Geralt’s mouth tick upwards. 

They eat together out on the back deck, watching the sea bob and break as the yacht cruises along, kicking up azure foamy wash. The breeze is pleasant. So is the quiet. For so much of the Fighters life there has been noise and chaos. Whether that was growing up just fighting to survive in boarding houses - moving from pillar to post as he got older and trained in his profession with his brothers-in-arms. although a quiet thoughtful man, there was always a storm around him. Work, life, Media..... you name it. That’s why he cherished the quiet times. It was of the reason their chosen home was out in the woods. Why down-time was in isolation with loved ones, Moments like this - out at sea calmed him. Geralt felt untouchable in this bubble until the whole circus kicked up again. there was also a sliding dread that it all collapse at a moments notice. Nothing good lasts for long. His past was testament to that. The fear sliding in like ice-cold water down the back of his neck.   
“A penny for your thoughts?” Jaskier asked with a nudge of his knee against Geralt’s own.   
“nothing.” He replied not half-wrong.  
“That’s a lie..... I can practically hear your brooding.” Jaskier dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and set his plate down at the low table.   
Geralt cleared his throat, added his soiled plate on top of Jaskier’s and sat back. Casting his eyes out to sea.  
“When’s it going to stop?” He asked flatly then fixed his Nymph with a golden stare.   
“Stop? The boat? Well I imagine that’ll be soon. I mean I haven’t chatted to her captain yet but Alizee did recommend to me a cute little port. Just a local  
Village. No prying eyes-“ “No! Jaskier!”  
The DJ stops mid-babble. Shock clear in his big blue eyes. “When..... when is it going to stop.” And Geralt takes a gulp. “Being good.”   
A wave of understanding washes over Jaskier’s features and he shifts, getting up on his knees on the resisting outdoor furniture and shuffles to Geralt’s side. Hands go to either side of the Fighters face, drawing him up to look at the DJ. 

“Feeling the bite of the black dog, my white wolf?” Jaskier gently enquires and nudges Geralt’s nose with the tip of his own. all he receives is a “hmmm.....” as confirmation. It’s all Geralt can say. All he needs to.   
“Dear heart...... if it all goes to shit. I will still be here and holding your hand.” He leans down and captures Geralt’s lips in a warm kiss. It tastes like breakfast but is still comforting and grounding for the Fighter. Geralt receives more kisses. They pepper his face - up the bridge of his nose, his forehead, both eyelids and his cheeks. Nimble ringed fingers stroke through his hair, making him purr. “Thankyou” he mumbles “no need.” Is the reply.


	8. LOVE and loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just smut at sea. Oh those bois.

Mooring just shy of Hvar’s port, Geralt wastes no time in diving off of the swimming platform into crystal clear waters. It’s refreshing and despite the beating sun overhead there is still a chill that makes the fighter gasp. He can see from his vantage point - treading water - that his most ardent fan (his nymph) is standing on the swim deck and holding aloft a hastily scribbled sign. It reads 10.0  
“Daft bastard” Geralt shouts out as Jaskier tosses the scrap of paper aside, shakes off his open shirt and dives in after him. 

His nymph’s form isn’t bad. Arms could be straighter, but Geralt doesn’t have time to muse about such things as the momentum of the dive brings the DJ up and up, just shy of Geralt’s embrace. “Well hello there.” The DJ sputters out with a dazzling grin, shaking dark wet hair out of his eyes and off his forehead. Geralt grins and pulls at the tie of Jaskier’s shorts, yanking the younger man closer. Into his personal space. Slim Hands immediately smooth over Geralt’s soaked sliver locks to knead at the thick muscle of his back. “Hello.” He growls in his slow easy way. “So how did I do?” Jask asks thumb-walking his way under Geralt’s hair to apply pressure at the base of his neck. It’s nice warm pressure. “Hmmm.... the dive?” The fighter tilts his head in mock deep-thought. “Can’t really call it a dive..... belly flop maybe.” And just as Jaskier’s eyes and mouth widen with shock and what with surely be a degree of verbal indignation Geralt grabs him from under each armpit and launches him out of the water, a few inches into the air to splash and flail back into the water. Geralt laughs when Jask resurfaces coughing and gasping. “Oh it’s on Witcher!” His nymph yells and rushes towards him with haphazard sidestrokes. 

What ends up happening is a water fight replete with tons of splashing, rough-housing and wrestling. Geralt DOES have an unfair advantage being bigger and stronger but fuck it, Jaskier is scrappy and can hold his own. It’s enough to make the bite of the black dog against his heels less noticeable. 

Water-logged and exhausted they climb back aboard and collapse of the daybeds to dry out on the sundeck. It feels good. The sound of the sea and smell of salt-spray. Geralt can feel it, a gentle bob of the waves lulling him into a soothing meditative state.

What wakes him is the dip and shift of the firm bed. There’s no dent beside him and he hears Jaskier sigh and pad away into the distance. Moments pass and Geralt continues to breathe deep. The feel of the suns rays heating up the skin of his back, the backs of his legs. The fighter feels like a lazy lizard on a warm rock, luxuriating in its laziness. It’s a appealing. The air is warm and drying him out nicely. Loose hair whipping lightly along the breeze against has back and large shoulders that are bunched tight from where Geralt has his arms crossed above his head. Feet crossed at the ankle. Sweat beginning to prickle on his back and in the creases of skin-on-skin. Geralt sighs deeply, pulling out the tension just under his ribs. It’s only then that Geralt notices footsteps. Close to him now and a shape blocking out the sun. A familiar scent - cedarwood, Vetiver, the tang of masculine sweat and sea-salt. “Jaskier...” golden eyes squint open after being closed for so long, rendering his vision in bleached-bone white. Jaskier is kneeling on the bed next to him hair wild and wind blown, skin and body hair shining from sun oil. The DJ has changed out of his swim gear and is instead sporting a familiar pair of white harem trousers, low slung on slim hips and in this harsh light Geralt can clearly see there’s no underwear. 

He loves Jaskier in those harem pants. He hasn’t worn them since their acro-yoga video that Ciri shot. (It went viral - Ciri says they broke the internet, whatever that means.) Jaskier knows he likes those pants.   
“Hmmm....What are you up to Nymph?”   
Jaskier just smiled and leaned down to peck a kiss to the side of his face. Geralt rumbles a pleased sound in the back of his throat and turns his head to bury his face in the cradle of his arms. The fighter has an idea.... EXACTLY what his nymph is up to. 

Hands slick with oil uncross Geralt’s ankles and slide slowly up the back of one calf, kneading and firmly pushing into tight muscle. The feel of cool oil against heated skin is lovely, nearly as nice as the talented hands that glide over his skin. Scars are smoothed over with wide palms and knots attacked with long fingers. Geralt can feel the weight and warmth of Jaskier kneeling so close, having moved to sit at the fighters feet for a better reach. Both calves are warm and slick with sun oil now and the DJ moves to the back of Geralt’s meaty thighs. 

Geralt can’t help the shift of his hips, how he minutely widens his legs as those hands press higher up one inner thigh just shy of The curve of Geralt’s rump. Nails skate along the hem of his compression shorts. Geralt feels it. Jaskier MUST have seen it. The involuntary twitch of his balls between legs and trapped under his swimwear. It’s then Geralt here’s tutting just above and behind him. “Tsk Tsk Tsk... so needy.” The DJ whispers as his hands mirror the same movements on Geralt’s other thigh “all the time...” then he shuffles up the fighters legs to bring his hips in line with the curve of Geralt’s arse. 

Those hands are on his skin again, slippery with a fresh amount of oil. It smells faintly of chamomile. Jaskier’s missing his rings. The deft digits feel  
odd without the circles of silver and gold.... but ‘oooh right there’ Geralt thinks which translates outwardly into a grunt when palms skate over the small of his back and up to apply pressure to his huge tightly knotted shoulders. Geralt has never been good at saying what he needs. Ever. And yet his Nymph know him, and just how to see to his needs. “Fuck..” the fighter grits out, muffled by his position facedown on the daybed. There’s more pressure as Jaskier attacks the knots with the base of his palms and the pads of his thumbs. That’s not the only thing having Geralt groaning. With each stretch and sweep down his back Jaskier, the bastard’s thinly clothed pelvis bumps against Geralt’s thick backside. The older man can feel his lover’s half-hard interest with each shift. And he’s the needy one? It’s enough to make him snort. 

Geralt’s own thick cock was half-hard when Jaskier had massaged up his thighs. Now the fighter is rock hard and pretty sure he’s gouged a 11-inch groove into the deck furniture. “Fuuuuuck.” He breathes again and turns his head to look over his shoulder at the man above him. His Nymph is so close now. Leaning over Geralt’s back and smoothing down both biceps in firm sweeps. The movements have him rocking against Geralt. clothed prick like a tent-pole against the cleft of the fighters arse. 

There’s a million and one things Geralt could do with their positions being what there are. Many jiujitsu moves he could perform and take Jaskier. different holds and grabs. Really Geralt has an unfair advantage what with the knowledge he has. But every bump and grind of his lovers hips has a delicious effect, shifting Geralt’s trapped cock against the daybeds surface. Sending all thoughts of surprise attack out of the fighters head. 

“I can feel THAT.....” Geralt says. His voice like gravel. And shift and shimmies back just as the DJ shifts forward again. The effect is instantaneous. Jaskier’s pretty mouth opens with a half-laugh/sigh at the friction of their connection. “Call me needy when I can feel your NEED poking me is the ass.” Geralt winks pointedly up at Jaskier who winks back and breathes out “time to meet both our needs then Witcher.” 

The younger man slides back down a fraction off of Geralt’s waist. The fighter twists and leans up on his arms to see as Jaskier pulls down the waistband of his harem pants (there’s already a wet spot) and frees his livid-pink prick. The tart grins lewdly at him and gives himself a few oiled up strokes, Crown of his dick shining with precome. The white pants are kicked off the rest of the way to catch in the wind and blow off the top deck - destination the sea. Right now Geralt cannot lament about this as clever slick hands take hold of the waist band of his shorts. The fit is that of a second skin. As Jaskier peels back the fabric he mutters “the most beautiful peach I’ve ever seen. That I’ve ever eaten...” Geralt would be blushing furiously by now if it wasn’t for the fact he’s already flushed with arousal, right down his chest. It’s too much almost. The open adoration that is cast his way. The fighter feels overwhelmed. All he can do is bury his head down in the crook of his arms again and breathe.

He is helpful in Jaskier’s quest to have him naked. Lifts his hips up as the DJ pulls the swim briefs off - careful not to tug or injure his manhood. That’s also thrown to the wayside. Legs are rearranged to the younger man’s liking with Geralt’s thick legs bracketing Jask’s long lean ones. “Oh you are perfect my love.” His Nymph purrs and plants kisses down the fighters spine. “I’m going to cherish you and show you that the good times are not going to stop.”   
Warm lips on his tail-bone. Hands sliding up inner thighs. Geralt bends his legs at the knees and lifts and tilts his hips in a wide yin-yoga pose. “Beautiful....so perfect my Witcher.” Jaskier praises and Geralt groans as kisses rain down on globes of his arse. There’s some fussing behind him and a bottle rolling onto the deck. Slicked up fingers move up the underside of Geralt’s tightly hanging balls to the most intimate skin at the seam of of his arse. A few soft teasing sweeps of fingers, smoothing oil over the fighters twitching tight entrance and then in. One long digit in his silky heat and Geralt stutters and bucks against the intrusion. “Jask..” he chokes “I know darling. I’ve got you.” In this position the fighter is so vulnerable. Bared to his nymph. The finger deep in his channel rubs against his walls and pumps slowly in and out. God it feels good already. The discomfort melting away to pleasure. Soon another finger and another joins first. Slowly pumping into him over and over. “Ugh... ohh fuck yes...” he grinds out and pushes greedily back onto Jaskier’s hand. “Oh yes... yes...” Jaskier kisses the small of his back, licks at the sweat that’s pooled there. Then the fingers are gone from his clenching channel. The sudden loss making Geralt’s dick throb painfully. Then Jaskier shifts forward and oh fuck.... the sweet press of the hot blunt head of his dick breaches Geralt. 

Both men are panting as Jaskier inches his cock deep into Geralt’s arse. That slow torturous push forward that sets his nerves alight. One hand goes to the slight curve of The fighter’s hip, the other to His shoulder and Geralt braces himself up on his arms as Jaskier bottoms out and places a messy kiss to shoulder not in a shaking death-grip. In the position the burn and stretch is deep and oh so fucking addicting. And when Jaskier begins to move the pleasure goes straight to his thick hard cock. 

“Oh fuck ohh fuck. Fuck !” He shouts and his Nymph moves in earnest deep and fast. The hand on his hip directs him to tilt back further and bend his lower back and the shock is sudden as on the next stroke Jaskier’s cock rubs against his prostate sending sparks dancing across Geralt’s vision and electric down his balls. “Yes... yes! Fuck! Yess I’ve got you white wolf.” The DJ pants in his ear and continues to pound into his arse. 

There’s nothing but them. Him. Jaskier and the sea. The sounds of their frenzied love making, groans and slapping of skin on skin carried out on the sea breeze and under the beating sun. Geralt is meeting him now thrust for savage thrust, chasing the pleasure, clenching round his lover. They could do this forever. The fighter wouldn’t give a fuck. He can’t. All blood has gone to his hard dick. Precome steadily leaking as his dick tip rubs against the fabric over of the bed. He clenches his eyes shut and hope Jaskier is close is with him. It’s too perfect. Too fucking good. 

It’s then he feels it. The latch of teeth on the taunt skin where neck and shoulder join. not painful but dull pressure and animalistic. It makes his balls clench up. Another thrust against Geralt’s prostate and he’s gone. Shouting himself hoarse, back arching up and coming in thick arcs.  
an arm goes round his waist tight and the teeth bare down a fraction and Jaskier follows spilling deep inside him with a few staggered thrusts. Keening into the abused skin on Geralt’s shoulder. 

They collapse down onto the daybed with a groan. Geralt feels boneless, wrung-out and so good. Both men are on lying on their sides. Jaskier still deep in the grip of Geralt’s body. They are lying in a wet patch of the Fighter’s making but he cannot be fucked to move. Jaskier’s hand strokes over his sticky abdomen in lazy circles and Geralt’s smiles. They are both sweaty, slick with sun oil and gasping for breath. He sighs and stretches which causes Jaskier’s softening cock to slip free. He grunts at the loss. For long moments it’s just slowing heart beats and the roar of the Adriatic Sea. 

Uncharacteristically it’s Geralt that breaks the afterglow. “You bit me?” He looks over his bitten shoulder to a sheepish-looking Jaskier. Hair damp with sweat and dick-drunk. “I’m sorry. Just heat of the moment.” There’s a kiss to the raw skin, wet and marked with teeth crescents. Before another apology and be uttered from his flustered lover Geralt captures his Nymphs mouth in a filthy kiss and bites at that plush bottom lip. “Don’t be. I liked it.” He drawls with post-orgasm easiness.

More sloppy kisses are traded as they come-down from the post orgasm high. Fingers trailing over tacky skin that’s beginning to stick with the salt on the wind, cooling sun oil and dried come. It’s then Jaskier sits bolt upright with a start.   
“Geralt.... our clothes have gone!”  
“Oh Fuck!!”


	9. LOVE and quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A v short something   
> An interlude of the bois just snuggling in the woods with feels  
> A setup for the next chapter.

Geralt knew there was something amiss to his lark instantly when he got back into the tub. 

They’d decided to watch the mist roll in from their vantage point of the hot tub on deck in the dim light. Thankfully the freezing rain had subsided - Sonoma California was in peak winter weather. 

There was a tarp cover that gave some protection, namely from leaf-litter and critters from the giant redwoods that surrounded the cabin.... but other than that. Nothing. Bliss really.

And since there was no one around - Ciri was in New York with her mother, Alizee was in Paris conquering the world and the house staff were off for the winter break that left the men all to themselves. So a naked soak in nature it was.

Geralt luxuriated in the hot waters. He gave a long full-body stretch to relieve sore bunched up muscles and sighed deep in the back of his throat. The wolf medallion against his chest no longer body-warm but hotter still was a comfort against his moist skin. Geralt gazed up as Jaskier padded over, seemingly unawares to the freezing cold air around them as he stepped back down into the hot water. Natural pout set into a firm grave line. Geralt sat up and smoothed his silver mane of hair back to slick wetly against his head- no fuss, no muss. “ okay Jask?” He asked to which the DJ shrugged as he stepped down into the deep tub. Geralt held out his hand and helped the younger man down into the steaming depths. 

“Well no not really.” Jaskier muttered he dipped his shoulders and tipped his head back, hair doing dark and slick against his own scalp. Trademark swoop of hair now gone, plastered to his head. “Ooh that’s better..” his lark hissed and shivered as his body acclimatised to the sudden temperature change and Geralt sat, reclined back, huge great arms resting on the wooden edges of the hottub. He was already feeling toasty and the bite of cold air on his hot moist skin was a nice contrast. A bit of fresh forest air. Geralt wasn’t about to push Jaskier further. He knew that whatever was troubling his lover would come out sooner rather than later. The champion wasn’t one to wheedle and press for information. 

Jaskier scooped up some of the hot water and rubbed it over his face and down over the back of his neck to warm up. Cheeks instantly pinker, he sat back facing Geralt. facing away from the view of redwoods and pines in a blanket of ferns and creeping milky mist. The younger man huffed and chewed his cheek before speaking to cast a glance over a wet shoulder at the forest behind him.

“My mother emailed me today.” His voice lacking the usual vibrancy.  
“Mmmhmm.” Geralt replied. Watching his lover’s features.  
“She wants us to come visit over the festive season.” It was then Jaskier looked at him. Blue eyes stormy. His pink bottom lip lightly being chewed.  
“It’s going to be hell but I can’t say no. Not to my sisters..” he sighed again uncharacteristically finding his words before speaking. “Dad most likely won’t even leave his study to speak to me and mother will try to hide her venom and disappointment in me ... but it’s CeCe and Maddie that I’d really like to see. I’m sure they’d love you..” 

Geralt leaned forward taking hold of one of the DJ’s hands in his larger one and turned it over, inspecting it - callused fingertips, ringless for once. The fighter couldn’t quite say the words he ment. They never came easily to him. words could be taken out of context. Could be to complicated. Like most things in life. Actions were easier. So Instead Geralt bought their joined hands up out of the steaming water and brushed his chapped lips against the top of his Lark’s knuckles and just said “okay.” What ensued next was a series of small kisses. peppered up necks and along collarbones. Geralt lied back along the length of the tub with Jaskier reclined against him. The fighter snaked one of his large arms round the younger man’s waist, his other hand coming to rest against Jaskier’s chest. Wet palm wide and flat against the damp furred sternum of his lover. Heartbeat strong and slowing. He could feel The DJ breathe out the tension he had been holding. They stayed like that is silence watching as the world darkened. The stark haunting cry of a Loon rang out and the great red woods and pines creaked and swayed as the ground-fog rolled in. The surrounding air had a chilled bite to it and the only light was that of the soft warm yellow glow of the Cabin home behind them. The water was still blessedly hot and hot plumes of vapour rose up into the aether. 

“This is nice.” Geralt breathes against Jaskier’s ear and held him a bit tighter. Truly it was.


	10. LOVE and family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt meets the Pankratz family.

The transatlantic flight from California to England hadn’t dulled the nerves rolling round in Jaskier’s gut. Geralt could tell. It was in the twitch of his hands, the way he held himself as they went through the normal furore of travel. Albeit with the perks and better service that money could buy. While on the flight over Geralt had heard his Lark on the phone to Alizee talking logistics, work deals and the latest crap that could spew forth from the gossip rags - these golden nuggets included, Jaskier being the father of a non-existent Kardashian baby, a Cardi B diss-track in the works, Geralt was confirmed dead by Wikipedia and Justin Bieber challenging Geralt to a fight. 

well that one was actually true and had caused Geralt to nearly choke and snort his black coffee down his front when his Nymph gleefully chuckled and put Alizee on speaker to tell him. 

Geralt had no doubt in his mind that Alizee knew of Jaskier’s tempestuous relationship with his parents... it was a well documented fact that Lord and Lady Pankratz showed distain and their first born’s profession and life-choices. They rubbed shoulders with the gentrified elite while Jaskier rubbed shoulders with the bright and beautiful set. Geralt’s lack of blood relatives didn’t give himself pause for thought anymore. The chosen family the fighter gained, gave him that ‘steadying anchor in a storm’ when life felt a bit too fucking heavy. He hoped that Jaskier felt that too. It’s not about blood.

Geralt’s suspicions were confirmed about Alizee’s knowledge when upon touching down on the tarmac of a small private airfield out near Buckinghamshire he spied the ride that their manager had procured them. “Fuck....” he muttered as the men proceeded to descend the steps of the jet. 

A BMW M3 sat gleaming on the wet runway. The dreary British weather is nothing to dull the shine of the flashy vehicle with its pearlescent bodywrap in shimmers of purple, pink, peacock blue and gold, Rose gold rims. A ridiculous spoiler... It had all the mods that would make a petrolhead or indeed a boy racer pant heavily. The exact opposite of understated and probably something that Jaskier parents would loath to see parked out in their estate. In essence a tricked out very big middle finger on 4 wheels courtesy of their friend and manager. Lovely. 

It might just make their mountain of a trip away to ‘meet the parents’ harder to climb. And Geralt held his breath thinking on it until he saw Jaskier’s face. His songbird has been uncharacteristically quiet until he’d seen the car. Then the younger man broke out into a crow of laughter and grinned wide “oooh they are going to LOVE this... Jask said with joyfully sarcastic edge as he took some of their luggage from the waiting flight staff. Well he gave the poor handler no choice as he made grabby hands with a wide smile and a quick “Thankyou darling I’ll take that.” ‘Fuck the car if it makes him happy to see his parents noses out of joint.... it’s worth it’ Geralt thought and stepped in, taking the bigger of the flight cases. Two rather official looking women came to meet them. One security/airport control. The other one of Alizee’s associates, with key fob and legal deets for the slickster car. Once all the checking-in formalities and been gone through (Geralt had their passports buried in his hold-all) and luggage safely stored the a rather spacious boot, the men found themselves peeling away out onto the small country roads - a labyrinthine maze of wild hedges, fields farmland and the occasional ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ quaint village. 

Jaskier drives, well of coarse! He knows the way afterall and there’s a touch of agitation in his normally relaxed driving style. Corners taken a bit sharper. Racing lines edged into. Geralt watches out the corner of his eye. And before they know it...  
“Well here we are.” Jaskier says with a sigh. “Lettenhove.”  
Geralt gives his younger lovers knee a reassuring squeeze, hoping that’ll give Jaskier some comfort because Geralt can’t quite find his words. The car rolls to a stop on the circular drive complete with a granite stature of cupid amongst the stalks and withered plants succumbed to a particularly harsh British winter. The manor has an imposing air to it. Red brick in ornamental herringbone pattern. Triple stacked chimneys and grandiose entry way. It’s then that Geralt spots the figures exiting the great building to line up waiting to meet new arrivals in the chilly air, standing with military precision.

Jaskier’s father, Lord Pankratz older then he thought. A a tall man slim build and sharp features. Replete in tweed and a dark green jumper. His wife, Lady Pankratz stands next to him, brown hair dusted with silver ‘highlights’ coiffed to perfection and being buffeted by the wind. A cliche of pearls and Hobbs tailored ‘casual’ clothing. Both look agahst at seeing Jaskier and himself as they exit the car. But then again they probably hate the flashy motor defacing their drive. To be honest Ciri would call it ‘bling’. 

Next to lady Pankratz stood a tall woman brunette late 20’s he’d hazard a guess to say. Mom jeans, shirt and jacket. In her arms a hairless plump babe bundled up In blankets and wriggling. This must be Cecily. She looks at the man next to her. Ah the husband. Geralt doesn’t know his name yet. The man dark haired, same height as Cecily dressed down in chinos and Ralph Loren back catalogue threads. He’s holding hands with a tot no more then 6-7 years old swinging her loose arm about trying to whip up the wind and squinting from under a birds nest of dark brown unruly hair. She’s wearing a fairy dress and red welly boots. That must leave Jaskier’s youngest sister. Madeline. Dark haired and pointed chin and big blue eyes just like Jaskier and Cecily. Her attire a bit more avant garde with puffy polka dot swing dress and wrap cardigan in bright red. Both Cecily and Madeline smile widely as Jaskier moves forward to greet them in turn. “Hello Father... Mother.” Lord Pankratz gives a stiff handshake to his eldest while lady Pankratz leans her face away offering her cheek. It’s odd. Almost as if they are not family but acquaintances. “Julian...” she mutters. 

There’s more exuberance in his greeting of his siblings and sly ribbing. Geralt is content to hang back and wait for his introduction.  
“Hello you! Celcily delivers a glossy kiss to her brothers cheek and there’s a moment with both tots with Jask exclaiming how big his nieces have grown to which the eldest proclaims herself a fairy and swishes her sparkly fairy dress as proof. Oh yes you are! Jaskier smiles with a kiss to the top of her head. Then shakes the hand of the man - Malcom...  
“Hey Jules!” Madeline surges forward to plant a cherry red lipstick kiss on Jaskier’s other cheek and earns a bone crushing hug.  
“Mother, father... everyone...”  
Oh good. It’s his turn now for introductions. Geralt clears his throat and comes round the Beemer to stand next to Jask- no he’s Julian here.... and meet the Pankratz family. 

Dutifully Geralt stepped up beside Jaskier, his Lark beamed proudly putting a hand up on Geralt’s shoulder. “This is my partner, Geralt Rivia.” The fighter gave a small of not tight smile and a nod towards the lord and Lady Pankratz. The silence from the pair spoke volumes as the wind whipped up. While Jaskier’s sisters smiled and said their hellos, and Jaskier gave an awkward stuttered laugh and squeezed Geralt’s shoulder. Lord Pankratz merely glared at them both before muttering through clenched teeth. “I know the ‘Butcher of Blaviken’ turned on his heel and stormed off into the stately pile.

Geralt looked down to the gravel at his feet. What did he expect.... clearly his reputation preceded him and in all honesty both himself and Jaskier didn’t shy away from the public with their relationship. Nothing to hide. Okay his lark was more an exhibitionist in declaring his love but that was the DJ all over. A preening peacock that wore his heart on his sleeve. Geralt was more modest but never denied his relationship. He’d answer questions time and again with a bored air but that’s because they were always the fucking same it bored him to tears. It was nobodies business on who Geralt was sleeping with and why. He certainly didn’t taking into account the feelings of others bar Ciri when his love life was concerned. But looking at Lady Pankratz now.... Geralt did wonder... for Jaskier’s sake, should he? Jaskier was quiet. He’s mouth open and cheeks tinged pink.

The Fighter stepped forward and extended his hand to the Pankratz matriarch. “Lady Pankratz.... it’s nice to finally meet you.” Geralt said in his own polite way - the manner with which he used on reporters and associated press. The older woman didn’t return the offer of a handshake instead looked at his outstretched hand as if he was offering a live grenade. A flash of Fear and thinly veiled disgust on her features before a tightly clipped “yes.... well....” then she addressed her shocked first born. His face now scarlet with shame “Julian there’s two spare bedrooms on the first floor next to the billiards room. I’ll have the maid prep them for you both.” She then turned on her heel and marched inside. Arms still folded. 

Geralt found his hand suddenly clasped by a more amiable Malcom (Cecily’s husband) who was now balancing his eldest daughter in one arm. There was a kiss and kind words from both Cecily and Madeline. With hushed words of “oh ignore the fuddie-duddies.” And “so lovely to finally meet you! Gods you are gorgeous. Jules is a lucky guy.” “Welcome to the madhouse.” Geralt smiled and made customary small-talk while everynow and again glancing over at his lover. Jaskier just stared at the entry hall where his parents had disappeared. Geralt had never seen that look on his face before. He looked crushed.


	11. LOVE and family part2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild drug-use ahead. They deserve it

Geralt didn’t have time to talk to Jaskier. It seemed the younger set were hellbent on smoothing over the initial frosty reception that both men had faced. So Geralt went along with it. Their cases had been left in the great hallway. Jaskier’s monogrammed Gucci blinged-out cases and hold-all next to Geralt’s more understated ones stood out starkly against the backdrop of country life chic. The Pankratz ancestral home was as grand and refined as Geralt imagined it would be and he had plenty of time to view its grandeur as Malcom clasped his shoulder in a rather overly manly fashion and took it upon himself to take the fighter on a tour all the while balancing his daughter - the fairy tot Lyla - on his back like a little silent marmoset. The little girl was all wide blue eyes staring at Geralt. 

Geralt watched as Jaskier was lead away by his sisters up the grand oak staircase into another room silently. Cecelia - baby in one arm, her other on his shoulder and Madeline hooking her arm through his on the other side. As the door closed behind them Geralt could here a muffled “you know what they are like Jules......” from which sibling, the fighter wasn’t sure. 

It was half an hour later and by that time Geralt had just about seen it all. Viewing the Louvre could have been shorter in comparison but still it was interesting if not a bit one-sides in conversation. 

Malcom chatted away warmly and the fighter listened. Facts about painted ancestors in the portrait gallery. The marble cherubs that adorned the fireplace in the parlour. The conversion of the servants quarters in the rafters into a playroom and bedroom wing for the family nanny now long since passed. 

The wine cellar in the bowels of the house had a musty smell of old air and damp from the stone floor but was impressive none the less. Racks upon racks and shelves hidden within a labyrinth of old dusty and no-doubt extremely expensive wine. Fit to burst. Little lyla had piped up then exclaiming with her little voice “daddy... I don’t wike....... the scaries.” Malcom has huffed a laugh and shushed the little girl all the while talking about the antique lamps worth as they past the pillars. Next the Solarium - a Victorian hothouse filled with orchids, palms and all manner of exotic flora. Apparently the Lady Pankratz’s pride and joy. Geralt Thought idly of ripping up one of the beloved plants by their roots. But that wouldn’t help The situation which was now a Christmas that was sure to be frostier than a winter spent in the Arctic circle. 

So it was much later when Geralt found his way to the music room - Malcom having relented you go take Lyla back up to the playroom for no doubt a daddy-duty tea-party. The fighter opened the door to find all three siblings leaning out of one of the enormous ornate windows and the unmistakable sweet smell of weed in the air.

They hadn’t noticed them. The two sisters leaning out to look at the frozen sky, his lark between them facing inward with his blue gaze unfocused staring at the parquet floor. 

“I don’t know what you expected Julian.” Said Cecily with a inhaled hiss as she took a drag from the spiff -Reed-thin and expertly made before she nonchalantly chipped off excess ash on the windowsill and offered it up to her Brother who shook his head gently “Mmm quite right too.” she exhaled out the window as best she could. “How long has it been since the throat surgery?” She enquired and Jaskier muttered a quiet “year and a half.”

Cecily passed the jazz cigarette round to the youngest sibling’s waiting grasp who said a quick “Ta” before inhaling with the same hiss and commented with a raspy held-in “must have been murder keeping your trap shut for that long to rest your voice. Madeline gave Jaskier a playful nudge and got a small smile and playful smack on her arm. Which caused her to chuckle out a great plume of smoke. “Well must have been hard with such a gorgeous man about all the time.... oh dear Julian he IS gorgeous.” Cecily cooed and nudged her brother.

Jaskier smiled wider down at his feet and it was then Geralt felt it was time to better make his presence known to the three of them and stepped out from behind a far screen. His younger lover instantly smiling at him as he strode over.... it was warming even though it didn’t reach the Lark’s eyes. “Speak of the Devil..... are your ears burning love?” Jask asked and put an arm on Geralt’s hip. “No more than usual. The fighter replied gruffly with affection his golden eyes fixed on Jaskier’s blue ones. Trying to feel out how the DJ was feeling. Madeline smiled wide facing them and offered out the spliff to Geralt. “To take the edge off our idiot parents.” She said with sympathy “S’okay it’s not your fault” Geralt replied with a shrug and a long drag of the illicit ciggie.   
“Give them time. They are quite hard on dear Julian here, what with him being first born and all....” Madeline said with a matter-of-fact air. “Ooh yes that and being a grand disappointment on all fronts” Jaskier muttered with a shrug of his shoulders trying to make light of it all. 

“Sweet Jules...... don’t worry you both have allies here.” Cecily said with another glossy kiss to her brothers cheek as a baby’s shrill cry rang out from the room next-door and it was then Geralt noticed that the baby was missing. “Oh seems Martha has woken up. Do excuse me.... mummy duty calls” Cecily put a quick dainty hand to Geralt’s shoulder. And said a quick. “Gorgeous.” And then strode off towards the door. “Come on Maddie, lets leave the love-birds alone... come help me with Martha-May.” Geralt’s exhaled as Madeline skipped out, retreating backwards with quick dancers steps calling out to them both as she exited the music room. “I love you’re twinning outfits! Nice touch!” Jask huffed a laugh and flipped her retreating form the bird.

Geralt supposed there may have been something in her comment not that they had planned on it. More for the weather. His black cable-knit jumper and dark grey-check trousers were smart with black doc marten boots were understated and comfortable. The pattern was echoed in the muted gold chain pattern of Jaskier’s well-cut black gucci suit. He looked immuculate with his tight fitting shirt and pointed velvet Chelsea boots. It was only those sad eyes that didn’t belong on his lark. His Nymph. Geralt took another long drag of the spliff and chucked the remainder of it out the window and grabbed His lark by the back of the neck for a long marijuana-hazed kiss which his love eagerly accepted. They would make it through this Holiday season.


	12. LOVE and family part3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Families eh....

Things weren’t much better after that. While Geralt collected their bags on the ground floor he could hear a deliberately hushed argument happening overhead on the landing above. Jaskier and his mother - Round2.

“But mother, Cece and Mall are in a room together-“.”because they are married with children Julian!” “- and if Geralt and I were married-“ “it’s different!” “Ah...I knew it! Geralt and I have been together for 5 years Mother. That must count for something.” “That’s not what I mean Julian. Respect mine and your fathers wishes.... while under our roof. In this house. You will be in separate rooms.” “Oh father dearest.... he’s in on this little game too. That figures... still sulking in his study is he?” 

Geralt hadn’t meant to pry. But both Jaskier and his mother were round the top of the stairs. Facing off across the decorative table with one of (good) Lady Pankratz’s orchids as main audience. The thought of Taking a late-night piss in the plant pot crossed the fighter’s mind as he tried to tamper down his blood boiling in silent rage at Lady Pankratz’s words. Geralt knew exactly what she was getting at, so did Jaskier judging from the shamed furious look on his face. “Just think of the children!” The older woman hissed at her eldest-born as a parting shot as Geralt walked up  
The stairs. At least she had the good graces to be aware of Geralt’s presence as he walked up Jaskier. Jaskier’s hands still braced against the table as if he were at a high-stakes poker game and hit with a losing streak. The Fighter eyed the Lady of the house as she sauntered away up the next staircase and out of sight.... probably to report of a parenting job well done to her husband. Neither Geralt or Jaskier has seen the Patriarch since his bristly welcome. Geralt couldn’t give to wretched shits about either senior figure or what they thought about him. The fighter was more concerned with his lover’s wellbeing. 

Geralt set the luggage down and came to a stop at his Songbird’s side, said songbird was currently looking up at the Tudor-wood panelled ceiling and sighed. “Sorry you had to hear that.” “Hmm...... separate rooms.” “It’s not just the room though.” The DJ sighed again and Geralt replied “I gathered...” Jaskier looked at him then at once sad but resigned to the fact that there would simply be rules they had to play by while under the Pankratz family roof. “So you’ll be staying in your old room..?” The fighter asked trying to move the weighty subject along. He was never good with his words, nor did he know how to fix things bar going into the Old Man’s study, threatening bloody murder then leaving with his Lark over his shoulder. That wasn’t going to help matters and besides the rest of Jaskier’s family seemed nice. And THAT was why Jaskier wanted to go. To see his sisters and nieces. So they’d have to suck-up the backwards thinking and jibes for a few days. They could do this. 

Jaskier took his gucci luggage and Geralt took his and they walked down the hallway “Oh umm.... no. I err well ... when I left home that is, after telling my mother and father I wouldn’t be taking part in the family business but, instead follow my dreams of being a world renowned DJ.... they redecorated my room.” “They what?” Geralt asked incredulously “I believe they’ve turned it into a sewing room? Or arts and crafts. Anything left that was mine is in the loft. Nice huh?” Jaskier finished coming to a stop at one of the many doors near the end of the hallway. “Hmmm .... with parents like that...” Geralt replied gruffly. Jaskier nodded knowingly. “So like you, I’ll be in a guest room.” All the fighter could think to di was nod in agreement, still processing the pettiness of the Lord and Lady while opening the door to his room exactly opposite Jaskier’s. “I’ll see you in a minute Witcher.” his lark said with a small smile as his disappeared into the room. the fighter nodded. 

Geralt closed the door behind him and grimaced. Grace and airs could buy you into the best schools and social circles. But it couldn’t buy you class, a heart or taste it seemed. The room was all oppressive walnut panelling, Chinz cushions and blush coloured paintwork. The hideous decor wasn’t what was bothering Geralt. It was how the man across the hall was coping with it all.   
He muttered a hushed “fuck” at the flowery carpet and went about unpacking his belongings.

With toiletries in the cream en-suite bathroom and his bags stored in the antique wardrobe Geralt settled into one of two overstuffed armchairs that occupied the bay window and checked his phone while watching the snow come down in a thick fine relentless dusting the bleak English countryside. 

There was a series of texts from his brothers -Lambert with his crude memes and rude jokes, Eskel with pictures of his small-holding outside New York state. Vesemir wishing himself and Jaskier a merry Yule. An Auretuza PR email - Miss Vengeberg’s top10 Christmas gift guide for the strong independent modern woman. He rolled his eyes at that. Then a whattsapp from Ciri. His cub had sent a series of images from Big Sky she was out there on a skiing holiday with Yen. Yen could ski very well off-piste but proffered the social life at the lodges, spa and hot spring resort. Ciri had always been fearless and was an accomplished snowboarder. She took after Geralt in that respect. It made him smile thinking of their last winter break together. where both father and daughter hiked up the advanced trails, board in each arm and raced down the most challenging slopes. He missed his cub. Geralt sent her a picture of the view from the window and a short message promising to call her later (figuring time differences were now the fighter’s second nature) then went to go freshen up for dinner. This would be fun.


	13. LOVE and family part4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s this more plot?

Exiting his room, Geralt noted that Jaskier’s door was slightly ajar and there was the sound of giggles. A pair of voices - one was Jaskier, He could pick his Larks voice out of a crowd so it wasn’t hard. The other younger, feminine with a polite husky quality. Must be Madeline in there with him. Both hushing eachother to keep quiet like two naughty school children then the humming of notes then onto the practice of scales. A warm up or a challenge between musically-inclined siblings. Geralt couldn’t tell not without seeing their faces but the fighter didn’t want to intrude. It had been a fair number of years since Jaskier had seen his family (some with good reason) so having sometime without Geralt would be a good thing. The Fighter listened as they sang little pieces, lyrics one after another. Snatched from theatrical  
Monologues, lyrics from a few of Jaskier’s own hits (thank his not his more ‘thirstier’ work), fighting Fire with Fire (was that scissor sisters?) and then first Jask then Madeline with a line from a song he hadn’t heard before.   
“We’ll wear our eyeliner if we want.”   
Hmmm .... that sounded ominous but Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle. As he made his way down the hall. 

Near the top the stairs crouched over a small collection of ‘treasures’ was Lyla. Brown hair, still a wispy birdsnest though most likely had been given a good brush to be presentable for dinner. The little imp had little ruby red glitter slippers, red tulle skirt, white cardigan - that might have at one point been smartly buttoned up but now the pan-collar was flipped up on one side like a sail-boat and the sleeves bunched up and a bit grubby with flecks of crayon wax. She huffed with concentration and continued to scribble and scrawl..... well actually mash a green crayon into the open antique book she’d found. Obviously couldn’t find paper and grandmother or grandfathers very expensive boring old book from a nearby bookcase had to do. That made Geralt grin. Karma was a bitch. Lost in her own world the little girl continued to scribble along the page until she hit the wood flooring then stopped. “Oh uh oh..” she said to herself as if caught having done something bad and only realising so in the way that little kids do. Wiping little pink hands on her white cardigan and then up into her hair to upset the small red tartan bow at the top of her head. 

Lyla abruptly stood up and looked up from her play-area atop the stairs... well more of a death trap for others. An assortment of a dozen Legos, crayons in a various state of melt or ruin and well-loved dolly. The little imp looked up slowly with wide eyes up at Geralt. The fear stare that kids unashamedly do to strangers. And the fighter had to admit he must have looked like a terrifying stranger especially to one so small. Most kids and people Were afraid of him. Except for Ciri. From day one his daughter never was. 

The fighter crouched down closer to the little girl. His voice gruff but quiet. “Let’s go to your parents, that probably enough .... artwork.” The tot nodded and grabbed up her dolly as The fighter grabbed the ruined book and stuffed into a nearby shelf and kicked the Lego’s and crayons to the side, still  
Messy but less of a trip hazard. “Hmm..... where are they? Your parents?” 

And with that the Lyla the imp scampered off down the other end of the hall. Dolly held by one foot. Scratchy tulle bunched in the other with Geralt a few steps behind. There was open door that she ran into with a chorus of “oh goodness look at yous.” And a “where have you beens?” Geralt rounded the corner and gave a few knocks for politeness sake. The British were big on manners. Cece and Mall (as they liked to be called) were inside , second eldest Pankratz sibling currently trying to blindly put a pearl earring in and Mall trying to tidy up their wayward daughter. baby Martha was standing in her cot by the window preoccupied with dribbling and biting the rail to notice the large strange man. “I found her at the top of the stairs. She likes books.” He pointedly holding up a crayon and chucking it onto a side table. “Oh my god....” CeCe breathed, Suddenly looking pale. “I hid it.... I wouldn’t worry.” Geralt said and put his hands in his pockets. “Thankyou.” Mall said before gently chastising Lyla, who pouted at her dad. “Hmmm well... I’d keep an eye on her. She was at the top of the stairs. There could have been an accident. See you down there. Geralt left the family to it and went off down the stairs to the main hall. 

A butler directed him to the drawing room where stood Lord Alfred by the fire place like an archetypal villain in a murder mystery. The older man cleared this throat as soon as he clapped eyes on the fighter.   
“Geralt. I hope you’ve made yourself at home.” Fucking nerve...... a hornets nest would be more comfy then the current situation Geralt found himself in. But he forced himself to not roll his eyes skyward and walked towards the patriarch. “Hmmm.... especially after such a warm welcome.” He ground out, voice like gravel and look the older man square in the face. 

“Yes well..... I’d heard of you. Still... such a surprise, Especially knowing Julian and his flights of fancy.” He paused for dramatic effect like a Bond villain before choosing his words carefully. “Well how can I put this. They never last long..... and all for shock and rebellion.” Lord Alfred’s features took on a hawkish quality heightened by the shadows and soft lights of the nearby fringed lamps. Nothing soft of sweet like that of his offspring. The firelight made his Eyes look like blackened glowing coals. 

Geralt just looked at him. Rising to the odious man would give Lord Alfred too much satisfaction. tire them out.... exploit their weakness. That’s what Vesemir had taught him and it was a tired and true method in the Octagon and it would serve Geralt now. Lord Pankratz wasn’t a hard man to read. He’d already given away so much in that first brief encounter. 

Lord Alfred smiled, thinking himself smugly supreme. “Hm well now we have an understanding... how about a quick drink before dinner hm?” The Lord made himself busy and poured two tumblers a few fingers of scotch and held one out to Geralt who accepted. “To understandings.” The Lord said with a clink of his glass against Geralt’s own. 

“Hmmm. Certainly something to think about while I’m Buried up to my Balls inside your son.” Geralt said with a hiss and knocked back his drink while the Lord stuttered and choked on his, face red with shock. The fighter smirked and slapped his glass down on mantelpiece. 

“Sirs.... my Lord. Dinner is served.” The butler announced from the hall and with the sounding of a gong.


	14. LOVE and family part5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely family meal....

An amuse-bouche was laid out for all  
Minus for the children who already had their dinners. (Looked to be mash, white fish in parsley sauce and peas) and while Geralt glared and the tiny mouthful of a morsel on his plate (fig stuffed with an oyster, and cheese wrapped in Parma ham and skewed with a sprig of rosemary that’s when his Lark took his entrance and glided into his seat at the other end of the table. “Ooooh there he is” cooed Madeline round her amuse-bouche while the lord and lady looked aghast. Geralt thought he looked very nice. If not dressed to antagonise his parents. Then really it was rather a job well done. 

Jaskier was wearing a pale pink chiffon blouse with puffy princess sleeves with a low-cut V neckline and edged in the same floaty fabric and studded with tiny sequin red strawberries and laced tight round his waist. “What do you think you are wearing.... Lord Alfred hissed. Jaskier smacked his glossy pink lips and batted his lashes. From his vantage point Geralt could see his Nymph was rocking mascara and precisely applied eyeliner. He eyed Madeline who just smirked, with her tongue poking from between pearly white teeth.   
“Thought I’d wear something.... amusing for tonight. Does it amuuuuse you father? Mother?” The DJ said twirling the meaty lollipop before tearing it off the rosemary with gusto and chewing thoughtfully. 

Geralt fought back a smile as he viewed the fellow dinner guests. Mall’s eyes were on stalks while Cece had a look of quiet smugness. Flicking between the faces of her older brother and younger sibling. Lady Agath’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “What about the children. What do you suppose little Lyla will think??” The older woman raged and as if on queue the little tot spoke up. “I THINK YOU ARE A PRINCESS.” Lyla grinned wide as she flicked peas across the table. “See Princess... Mother, Lyla doesn’t care. And nor should you. So do not use my daughter as a pawn for your bigotry.” Cece fumed. 

silence descended upon the dinner guests. It remained predominantly that way throughout the meal. Geralt was sure if the atmosphere could have gotten any frostier then it would have started snowing inside as well as outside the great house. All-in-all there were 10 courses in total. The amuse-bouche( bite of food), hors d’oeuvre(tiny starter), soup, starter, salad, fish, main course, palate cleanser (sorbet), dessert and mignardise (tiny dessert) and in all honesty Geralt thought he had better food from in-and-out burger. At least it was hot when it arrived and not comprising of things you didn’t like, like endive nor was it served by poor waiting staff wearing those tiny white gloves that hovered to take away your plate. Geralt hated that most of all. He didn’t understand the need for all the pomp and ceremony. Surely this was just a family get-together. Surely the Pankratz’s didn’t eat like this all the time. Tiny barely hot meals without any substance..... maybe there was a metaphor there. Hmm.

Every now and again he’d glance at his Lark. Small Pockets of conversation were occurring here and there by the time more wine had been drunk and cognac followed, the alcohol was defrosting those around the fighter. Only just. Mall was now talking to Lord Alfred while Lady Agatha gone with Cece to take the children up to bed. Both had long since crashed out during the salad coarse and had ended up snoozing in their parents laps. To be fair the kids hadn’t missed much. 

Jaskier was talking animatedly about their cabin in Sonoma to Madeline had moved her chair to the other side of her brother, while Geralt took up Her previous spot at his side. The youngest Pankratz sibling was to the fighters surprise quite a good drinker. Not to long after their warmed cognac glasses were drained did she ask for another bottle of claret and filled all three of their glasses. For the first time since they arrived did Jaskier look quite cheery. That may have had something to do with the alcohol judging from the high colour on his cheeks. Geralt smiled to himself as he felt a familiar hand on his thigh from under the table. “Maddie, you must come up in the new year. Really.... no. It’s beautiful. A slice of heaven hidden in the forest. Oh and you must meet Ciri. That’s Geralt’s daughter. If that’s alright with you, love?” Jask paused to ask, taking a big gulp of wine, his eyes shining. Geralt could tell from here that his mostly eaten-off lipgloss had tiny green and pink flecks in it and in that moment wolfishly he wanted the speckles of glitter on pressed to his own lips. “Of coarse.” The fighter replied after a beat and Madeline slowly looked between the two men before giggling into her now nearly empty glass. “Oh you two are sweet and just a bit...... sickening.” She muttered.

Cece came back to the table minus children and grabbed her cognac glass and quickly drained it while still standing. “Father...... mother has one of her headaches.” “I see. Right. Well I’d better go. Goodnight all.” Lord Alfred said rather abruptly and left. “What’s that about.” Geralt asked “oh that.... that’s the secret signal” Jaskier said tapping his nose. “Oh yes it’s such a good secret we’ve known since we were children it’s mother’s way of signalling her displeasure.” Cece muttered slumping down into her seat and pouring more wine for herself and mall who sat meekly still. She took a mouthful before speaking again. “most likely she’ll be raging at le Enfant Terrible here...” she gestured at Jaskier and how father didn’t do anything about it. Well that’s what I think. So Geralt, welcome to the family. We are such a cliche.” She burst into laughter. the drink clearly having an effect and loosening her tongue. 

“Annnd I think this is our Queue to go to Bedfordshire...come on darling” Mall said and practically man-handled Cece up and out of the room. “Annnnd then there were 3.” Jaskier said with a click of his tongue.

This hadn’t stayed that way for long. Madeline, Jaskier and Geralt had found themselves back in the music room with a quick detour down to the cellar to refuel with 2 more bottles of wine. 

Geralt leaned against the far window and watched quietly Jaskier played the piano and Madeline sang and danced with one of the bottles in her hand. She spun in circles and nearly sloshed scarlet down her dress and giggled m, still managing to come into the 2nd chorus of ‘I’m feeling good.’ With her brother. They were both a little off-key but by no means less magnificent. 1 more song, this time ‘Monday, Monday’ sung with gusto until Madeline flopped against the piano and proclaimed herself done. “Goodnight my loves. Do not forget to tip your waitress!” She cried drunkenly going up to kiss Geralt’s cheek then doubling back to do the same to Jaskier and ruffling his hair. “Night.” “Goodnight dear” Jaskier called after her retreating form.   
And then there were 2.


	15. LOVE and family part6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enough is enough.

Geralt sighed and shook his head at the empty hall Before going to his own room across from Jaskier’s. Leaning heaving against the closed door of the monstrosity of a bedroom the fighter pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated “Fuck.”

One cool water bath and 4.5 hours later over tossing and turning and still Geralt couldn’t settle. This was ridiculous. The fighter could spend weeks, sometimes months without physically seeing his Nymph due to their conflicting schedules and never lost a wink of sleep. Yet one evening with the arseholes Jaskier called parents and not quite being able to touch the DJ and now he couldn’t fucking sleep. 

Absence made the heart grow fonder and the tease of their kisses earlier that night made his neglected cock thicken out and throb. Fuck sake. 

Geralt glared up at the ceiling in frustration. He was never normally like this. like some slave to his desires, like some sort of sex-hungry teenager. The fighter rolled over onto his side and burrowed a meaty arm under the overly-soft pillows and huffed, ignoring his needs to scowl at the the chairs in the bay window. One of them was piled up with the clothes he’d worn that night. Normally the fighter took more care of his belongings. having come from nothing he knew and felt the value of the things he owned, yet tonight he’d torn off the blazer, polo neck and trousers and threw them as if the innocent material had offended him. Jaskier would have lamented they way he was treating Tom Ford’s finest. The shoes launched into another direction with a loud bang that the the fighter was sure had been heard by the occupants of the first floor. Thankfully no one came to bare witness to his fit of frustration. 

In the long grey shadows and crushing black of the room the pile resembled that of a crouching monster, an opponent in the ring ready to strike most likely offended by his rough treatment from earlier. “What are you looking at?” Geralt muttered at the inanimate objects. He looked at the time on his iPhone and huffed. “2:30am..... fuck.” The great fighter rolled back onto his back, gave one of his hairy pecs a small scuff of a scratch and kicked off the stifling bed sheets and sighed. 

Geralt had never been given affection so freely by anyone without having to work for it to feel worthy of that love. Now the fighter had tasted such things and being currently denied of the affection the fighter wanted was driving him up the proverbial wall. Not so little-Geralt twitched with sympathy from its confines of bigger Geralt’s sleep pants.

The minutes seemed not so much crawl-by but stretch and the fighters frustration grew. Until finally Enough was enough. 

In a series of swift movements he was up and out of the door...  
Only to meet his Nymph halfway in the hallway. Great minds think alike it seemed. And Geralt couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took in the visage of the man before him. Chestnut hair as wild as his big blue eyes. Wearing sleep pants and a gucci robe, no doubt so he could sweep about dramatically in, Geralt could see the slight tenting at the front of his sleepwear from here. There was a slow lewd smile from his Nymph, obviously taking in his own state of dress and arousal and the dam broke. 

Geralt practically growled as the men met in the middle. colliding together with a fierce frenzy of denied kisses and clashing of teeth. The fighter kept going forward. Bodily hauling Jaskier up round his waist with a bruising grip on his arse. Jaskier bucked and wriggled against him, locking his ankles round the small of Geralt’s back. “Fu—uck.” The DJ mouthed against The fighter’s dimpled chin and gave it a salacious nip. “YES.” Geralt growled and kicked the door of Jaskier’s room closed behind them.


End file.
